Beyond the Darkness
by Neko-chan4
Summary: A re-write to the end of season 5, beginning after the tumultous "The Body". Buffy's world is beginning to fall apart after the death of her mother. With a sister to protect, Glory to worry about, and now a new spectre in town, will Spike be able to hel
1. Prologue

**Beyond the Darkness**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…). "You Don't See Me" is by Josie and the Pussycats.

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body".

Summary: After the unexpected tragedy of Joyce's death, a broken Buffy has a somewhat revealing encounter with Spike, an encounter ending quite differently than their former (see "Crush") which leads to a newer, heated tension between the two former enemies.  Meanwhile the Scooby gang, still intent on uncovering Glory's secrets and the relevance of the Key, seems to have unwittingly stumbled upon a strange and cryptic legend that may just answer Buffy's misgivings about her feelings for a certain, British vampire…

* * * * * * * * * *

_Prologue_

Despite the late hour—or rather, early—the bleach-blonde vampire, former master, brutal undead killer and just plain all-around Big Bad made his way to the seedy tavern near the bad part of town (the only suitable part, he thought) to catch up on his wallow-in-my-misery-as-well-as-several-bottles-of-cheap-liquor routine.  It seemed that he was doing that all too much lately, but it wasn't at all hard to understand.  Having been the biggest and baddest vamp around since Angel's wondrous resurrection into the realm of the soul-ed, and then having it all taken away in an instant so that he was reduced to sucking pigs' blood from a bag and playing toady for the Slayer and her Scooby Gang…well, it didn't exactly bode well for any future position in the evil department, not to mention keep him on anything but nasty terms with his former "brethren of the night." 

_This is the place where I sit_

_This is the part where I love you too much_

_Is this as hard as it gets?_

_'Cuz I'm getting tired of pretending I'm tough_

The worst part of all was that he wasn't sure he even cared anymore.  De-fanged and soulless, and working side-by-side with the Slayer—if not for Angel's former soul-endowed exploits, he was certain a vampire couldn't be any worse off.

But of course, here he was—even worse.  Not only did he work with the Slayer, but he unwillingly and undeniably loved the Slayer.  It was beyond belief, it was beyond reason, and it was his curse.

_I'm here if you want me, I'm yours you can hold me_

_I'm empty and diggin' and tumblin' and breakin'…_

_At least the poof had a bloody soul to blame, thought Spike bitterly, hands suddenly itching for the familiar comfort of a cigarette.  Fumbling irritably in the pocket of his duster, he had the small roll of tobacco out and lit—and the rest of the pack returned to his pocket—in astonishing speed and agility, resuming his fast, purposeful pace._

Despite his increasingly foul mood and self-loathing spirits, their was still a tiny voice in the back of the brassy vampire's head hoping and wishing…that somehow, all would work out and the Slayer would realize what she felt for him.  His humanity?  Or was he just going soft?  He inhaled viciously on the cigarette, finishing it, and flung the still glowing butt away in frustration.  He had had enough of humanity.  Humanity had brought pain, rejection.  Worthlessness.  Why else had he allowed himself to be seduced to the dark, in a most clear and literal sense?  Only in the arms of a vampire had he found power.  Power beyond imagining, not to mention love and unending passion…

And hurt and pain and blind, bitter rage.  _Bloody fool! his thoughts snarled at him.  __You're no better off than you were as a bleedin' mortal!_

The voice in the back of his head sighed with forlorn despair, becoming increasingly louder.  If he had had a soul, he was sure this would be it, but as it was he did not, and therefore the voice unnerved him endlessly.  All emotion, all raw, like a wide-eyed child.  But the thoughts that it breathed, the weak human dreams and heavy desires, would never be.  _Could never be._

To even wish, even think.  Him…and the Slayer.

_'Cuz you don't see me_

_And you don't need me_

_And you don't love me…_

_The way I wish you would…_

_The way I know you could_

"To hell with you, Slayer!" he spat, this time out loud, but barely a vicious whisper, the breeze covering the sound even as it escaped his lips.  Lighting up another cigarette, he growled angrily to himself, staring at the glowing embers that tumbled away on the wind as he took a heavy drag, but not even their fire could burn the young woman's visage from his mind.

_I dream a world where you understand_

_But I dream a million sleepless nights_

Soon the small dive of a tavern came into his sights.  Flicking away the remains of his cigarette, Spike stomped moodily into the dank abode, ignoring the suspicious and hostile glances that met him from the variety of demons and humans within.  He strode boldly to the bar; ignoring the barkeep's nervous, shifty glance around the room, then back to him, his irritation now evident.

_Well I dream of fire when you're touching my hand,_

_But it twists into smoke when I turn on the lights_

"Oh, as if I hadn't had enough problems tonight!  _Master Spike, you've gotta' stop comin' around here like—"_

The demon quickly emerged in the moody vampire, fixing the lippy bartender with golden, predatory eyes.  "Bourbon, Willy.  Now!"

_I'm speechless and faded, it's too complicated_

_Is this how the book ends?  Nuthin' but…?_

Giving a long-ending sigh, Willy hastily moved to obey, and with the movement, Spike was able to see the far counter of the bar previously blocked by his back.  He wasn't sure if it had been luck, or his unfortunate fate, but he was suddenly affronted by the object of all his misery and human desires.

"Buffy?"

_This is the place in my heart_

_This is the place where I'm fallin' apart_

_Isn't this just where we met?_

_And is this the last chance that I'll ever get?_

The petite blond looked up from the bottle of whiskey she was currently nursing with shaking hands.  Her features were pale beyond his own undead tone, gaunt and stricken with inexplicable pain, yet somehow retained that effortless beauty that had so caught him from the start.  With bleary, booze-touched eyes, she blinked at him from across the bar, and finally finding recognition focused on him with some difficulty.  There was none of the usual belligerence or disgust she had shown to him in the past.  Only unending pain, green eyes brimming uncharacteristically with tears.

_I wish I was lonely, instead of just only_

_Crystal and see-through, and not enough to you…_

"Spike…"  As if she could contain her pain no more, she broke down and wept, awkwardly pushing away the half-empty bottle in her hand which spun as drunkenly as she onto the floor, shattering into a dull splay of glass and booze.

The punk rock vampire was effectively speechless.

_'Cuz you don't see me_

_And you don't need me_

_And you don't love me…_

_The way I wish you would…_

_The way I know you could._

After a moments frozen shock, Spike slowly climbed to his feet, hurrying around the bar in a mixture of confusion and concern.

"Buffy!" he repeated, louder this time, grabbing her arm in time to stop her tumbling from her barstool.  "Bloody hell, you're off your face!"

She laughed crazily amidst her tears, leaning on his arm for support.  "Never thought…ya'd sche da mighty Schlayer drunk in a tavern, 'ey, Spike?"  She sobbed heavily, suddenly and surprisingly throwing herself into his arms, her small hands grasping desperately at the front of his shirt.

"Oh, God, it's all gone, Spike…!" she wailed pitifully, her sobs muffled against his chest.  "Everything is…such a mess…I can't…"

Under any other circumstances he might have enjoyed having her lithe form pressing against him, but in her drunken blubbering state, all he could think of was getting her out of there and safely home.  He didn't even want to think what kind of trouble the Slayer might have gotten into if he hadn't stumbled upon her just now.

He patted her head clumsily, awkwardly attempting to pull her to her own feet.  "Come on, pet, let's get you home now…" he murmured soothingly, eyes darting uncomfortably to the many eyes now focused on them.

As if he had struck some sort of chord within her, Buffy's wails became louder and more heart-wrenching, her body quivering with the exertion of so much pain and despair.  "Home!  Spike, she's gone!  She won't be there and…oh, why did she do this?!  Spike, why?!"

Still attempting to maneuver her towards the door and ignoring the insistent way she was pressing up against him, Spike glanced down at her inquiringly.  "Do…what—Cor, what are you sobbin' about, pet?  Who did what?"

The blonde was strangely and suddenly silent, pressing her dark lashes tightly shut as if attempting to calm herself, and the vampire shivered involuntarily with the pain radiating from her, nearly tangible as her heat.  Yet despite her despair and his own concern, he found himself drawn into the gentle tremble of her heavy, pouting lips.  Her eyelashes fluttered, glittering wetly with her tears, and she gazed up at him through mournful olive-green eyes.  He found himself melting under that gaze, and once again forced himself to tear himself away before the desire overcame him.

"Okay, Slayer, let's get you home now…"

Her grip tightened again on his shirt and he found himself once again looking into her green, pleading gaze.  "I can't…" she moaned, long and drawn out as if the words had been painful to speak.  She began to sink to her feet but his arms caught her, pulling her up again unsteadily and starting for the door once again with her in tow.

"Alright," he drawled in confusion, dark eyebrows furrowing in a semblance of control and reason as they made it out to the street.  Whatever dark thoughts he had been having before this were completely forgotten, as well as any normal urge to shake the effect she was having on his mind and body.  Trying to keep calm and rational was hard with her warm, trembling figure pressed desperately against him.

He shook away the improper thoughts he was having with some difficulty, trying to ignore her warm, musky scent all around him.  "We can't leave you here though, now can we, luv?"  Scanning the lightening horizon, he judged he had just about an hour until sunrise.

"It doesn't matter…"  She threw back her head suddenly, laughing insanely, and oddly reminding him of Dru.  _I'm naming the stars, my love…!  He shook the thought away, disentangling himself from her slightly to try and clear the fog from his brain._

Once, he would have found this the perfect opportunity to kill her, simply snap her neck and feed like he had dreamed of for so many years.  She had plagued his dreams—his nightmares—ever since he'd laid eyes on her, and only her death had seemed the answer to their end.  He knew he could never do that now, whether there had been a chip in his head or not, despite her obvious revulsion and rejection of him.

Only having her would ease that pain.  Once again he found her warmth and scent drawing him in, and he fought to keep control.  It was obvious, that just as his sire, he was doomed to live with that passionate and insatiate desire for all eternity.

Or until she took pity on him and drove a stake through his heart.

She was still laughing, staring up at the stars in dizzy, drunken glee.  Pushing off of his chest, she spun away from him, swinging her arms wide in a sort of spinning, pagan dance.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" she screamed, giggling insanely, but her giggles quickly dissolved into tears once again.  Half falling, half sinking, she dropped to her knees on the cement and buried her face in her hands, sobbing silently as she rocked back and forth in silent anguish.

Momentarily torn, the vampire lowered himself on his haunches beside her.  "Jesus…!  Buffy, what's the matter?" he crooned, genuinely concerned.  He rubbed her back soothingly with one hand, feeling her body shudder beneath his touch.  "Buffy?"

The Slayer looked up from her hands, staring blankly ahead.  "She's dead, Spike," she spoke hollowly, her words clear and sober.  "She's dead.  Dead.  Dead…"

This time he looked at her firmly, gripping her shoulder insistently.  "Who is, Buffy?"

Buffy swayed, mouth working wordlessly.  "My mother…" she whispered finally.  In a sudden fit of convulsions, she vomited violently, leaning on her palms on the cool cement until she was through.  Then swaying once more, she tumbled against him, finally passing out against his shoulder.

Something flashed in the vampire's being.  A slicing, short-lived pang that rocked him inwardly.  _Remorse?  He shook his head, trying to clear his tangled thoughts and easily scooped the Slayer up in his arms, rising to his feet.  Right now, he needed to get the Slayer taken care of and himself somewhere safe before dawn._

Already, the faint light of dawn was beginning to peek over the horizon as the lone vampire and his unlikely charge moved briskly towards the safety of darkness, his soulless mind plagued with conflicting emotions belying explanation.

*           *           *

Willow waited tensely, listening as the line on the other end reached its twentieth ring and still no one picked up.  Cupping a palm over the mouthpiece she turned to the other occupants of the room, eyebrows furrowed deeply.  The faces of the four others gathered in the small magic shop mirrored her concern.

"She's not answering.  Do you think I should…?"  She trailed off, eyes darting from one person to another for help.

Tara was fixing her with a familiar compassionate gaze.  It pained her to see how badly she was taking the last day's events.  How everyone was taking them, for that matter.

"Maybe she's just not ready, Willow.  Let's give her time."

Across the room, Xander leaned back against the chair he was seated in, attempting to appear casual.  His tenseness belied his discomfort, however.  "I'd say she's taking this thing pretty well, if you asked me.  I mean, if my…well…if this happened to me, I'd probably be out having myself a nice killing spree about now."  Nobody laughed at his comment, but for once the humorous young man was looking for no applause.  Seated next to him, Anya patted his knee reassuringly.

Willow suddenly looked worried, forgetting the phone.  "Wh-what if that's where she is?  We should stop her!  I mean, she could get herself killed in her condition and—"

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "I'm sure Buffy is okay, Willow.  This…this tragedy has doubtlessly shaken her immensely, but I am sure she will be rational enough not to…ah, get herself, ahem…_ greatly harmed…"_

"Let her stake a few unlucky vamps and get this all out of her system, Will," added Xander supportively, making stabbing motions reminiscent of _Psycho with a fist.  "Maybe there could be a bright side to this."_

Everyone was suddenly staring at him, particularly Willow, mouth agape in horror.

"Scratch that."

Eager to divert their attention, Anya shifted uncomfortably, piercing the others with her wide-eyed, innocent face, devoid of expression.  "What about Dawn?" she asked inquisitively, as always curious and somewhat oblivious as to what she was supposed to do.  "Is Dawn…hurting?"

There was silence as the others shifted uncomfortably, thrown-off as usual by the former-demon's blunt way of coming straight to the point.  The last day had not been easy for all of them.  After the sudden and unexpected tragedy of Mrs. Summers' death, not to mention a short run-in with a newly-born vampire in the autopsy ward of the hospital, Buffy had made a hurried excuse and left, supposedly for home.  Dawn, however, had stayed, still unable to grasp her mother's death, and had eventually gone to stay with Giles, saying that she didn't wish to bother Buffy just yet, which had been just fine with the middle-aged Englishman.  The Watcher had been almost as upset as the two girls over Joyce's untimely death, and had always felt himself as a sort of father figure to the two girls so easily took it upon himself to get them through the ordeal.  He had worried somewhat over Buffy and had nearly gone after her, but had somehow reasoned that she would be alright and instead focused on consoling a broken-up Dawn.

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably, sliding his glasses off his nose and cleaning them absentmindedly with the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket for such an occasion, a clear sign that he was struggling for words.

"Dawn is…She appears to be faring well, at the moment, but I believe she is taking this the hardest, due to her…ah, unusual circumstances.  But yes, Anya, I do believe she is…hurting."

The demon-girl nodded sagely, her odd expression of a rough understanding on her calm features.  Beside her, Xander cleared his throat uncomfortably, putting a meaningful hand on his girlfriend's arm as he slowly climbed to his feet.

"Ah, I think it's time Anya and I got some rest.  What with all this excitement and all…"  Giving her a meaningful glance, he gently steered the girl towards the door, giving his friends a short wave.

The others nodded, staring after them in silence until the door chime announced their absence.  Tara shifted slightly, giving Willow another concerned glance, who was still standing at the counter, phone in hand, the dead dial tone blaring loudly in the silence.

"I think Willow and I should be going, too."

The sweet-looking redhead pursed her lips nervously, eyes flitting between the two remaining people.  "Giles, what if…"

The Watcher sighed lightly, replacing his glasses on his nose with characteristic dignity.  "I'm sure Buffy will contact us when she is ready, Willow."  He pierced the girl with a compassionate, paternal glance.  "Right now, I do believe all of us could use a bit of rest.  This ordeal has been quite hard on all of our nerves, and if we wish to help Buffy and Dawn in any way, we will need to be strong and supportive."

Willow smiled wanly, finally replacing the phone on its jack with a resigned sigh.  "I suppose you're right, Giles.  I'm just being the overprotective best friend, I guess.  Emotional trauma is the only area of protection I specialize in, after all."

Giles returned her smile.  "Well, I am sure Buffy will come to you for help as soon as she is ready.  Otherwise, I do believe I will be forced to play the overprotective Watcher until she does so."

There were short good-byes and soon Giles was left alone once again.  He sighed, heavily, fiddling uncomfortably with the worn edges of an old, thin book that had been lying open on the round table.  The door chimed once again, signaling that is was time for him to get back to work.  Closing the book and straightening his glasses, he got up from his seat and went to attend to his customers.

*           *           *

Buffy awoke to disorientation and a screaming headache.

Everything was dark, incredibly dark, and cold beyond the nest of warmth her own body had created in the covers of the unfamiliar bed.  She groaned, and immediately gasped at the gut-wrenching pain in her skull, putting a hand tenderly to her head.  Because of the dark, she couldn't be sure of whether it was night or day, but judging by how long she assumed she had been either asleep or unconscious, she guessed it was more likely the latter.

She remained lying for several minutes, waiting for the pain in her head to lessen as she tried to gather her bearings.  Finally she struggled shakily to a sitting position, looking around at her surroundings as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark.  Except for the bed, the room seemed fairly empty.  Cold, empty, and vaguely familiar.

Like a crypt.

She blinked, cursing.  "What the…"  Flopping back into the covers momentarily, Buffy finally noticed the strange, yet familiar scent of the sheets, something only she could notice with her heightened Slayer senses.  Very faint, human yet not, and hinting of cigarette smoke and all-too-familiar cologne.

"Good morning, sunshine."

The young woman was startled slightly by the cheerful, British voice, wondering why her Slayer senses hadn't warned her of the vampire's presence earlier.

Spike grinned at her with characteristic brashness, crossing the room and lighting the few candles in it with the one he had been holding.  Buffy followed his movements suspiciously, inwardly glad to realize she was fully clothed and that it was obvious he had come from the other room.  Still, she glared at him, distrustful.  _And why should I? she thought harshly.  He's a vampire, he can't be trusted.  It's just a chip in his head, and as soon as he figures out how to get rid of it, you know he'll kill you._

But there was another voice in her head.  At the moment it was silent.  But its silence spoke volumes, especially on her heart rate.

"How's the headache, Slayer?" spoke up the brassy vampire, lazily taking a seat across the room in a rather dusty and archaic looking chair.  As if in answer, she rubbed her head tenderly, frowning viciously.

"What am I doing here?" she demanded in a deadly tone.  Spike seemed unfazed, however; in fact, his grin widened further at her obvious annoyance.

"I think I might have asked you the same question last night, pet," he replied cheekily, leaning back and getting more comfortable in his chair.  He chuckled slightly, enjoying the flushed and furious expression on Buffy's face.

"Don't play games with me, Spike," she demanded angrily, climbing to her feet.  Immediately a wave of nausea assaulted her.  Putting out a steadying hand against the bed, she breathed deeply, waiting for the ill feeling to subside.

She failed to notice the flash of concern on the bleach-blonde vampire's face.  "Lord, you did yourself a number with the liquor, Slayer.  I thought you didn't drink?"

Buffy grimaced, her nausea subsiding enough so that she could stand.  "I don't."

"I can see that," he replied sardonically, getting up and offering a hand.  She pushed him away gruffly, glaring daggers at him.

"You still haven't answered me, Spike.  What am I doing with a hangover and what am I doing in your bed?  You've got five seconds, and then I'm going to beat it out of you."

The vampire ignored her, leaving the bedroom for the main chamber, obviously expecting her to follow.  She did so, grudgingly, angrily demanding he answer her while wincing painfully against the headache and nausea.  The main chamber was brighter, a fire glowing cheerily in the low fireplace and candles scattered around the dusty, cobweb infested room.  Still ignoring the Slayer's threats, Spike retrieved a covered Styrofoam cup from the top of a dusty sarcophagus currently serving as a coffee table.

"Later, Buffy.  Here, drink this," he insisted, kindly but forcefully, shoving the cup at her.  She blinked, taking the cup warily.

She raised it to her nose, crinkling her nose in disgust.  "What is it?  Blood?"

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in annoyance.  "No, it's bourbon, you chit!  It's coffee, what else?  Now drink it.  It might help that nasty hangover of yours."

Buffy raised it to her lips cautiously, taking a sip.  Convinced it was just coffee, she took a larger sip, enjoying the warmth it brought her.  Then she looked back up at the vampire watching her, his expressionless face unreadable, and glared sourly.  The action was mostly out of habit though and hardly as intimidating as she had hoped it would be.  And a part of her couldn't help noticing the concern evident on his face, despite his obvious attempts to appear indifferent.  It felt oddly…comforting.

She almost spit out the coffee.

"Spike, story.  Now."

Gesturing for her to take a seat, which she took gladly, still ill from the after-effects of the alcohol, he perched casually on the edge of the stone sarcophagus.  His gaze was serious, dark eyebrows slightly furrowed, and she realized he was trying to gauge her temperament.  Just to humor him, she made a point to glare harder, but finding it only increased her headache by tenfold, she relented to simply favoring him with a slightly annoyed look of impatience.

Spike took a breath, unneeded of course, being a vampire, and pursed his lips thoughtfully.  "Do you remember _anything of last night, luv?"_

She smiled coldly, a warning.  "No, so you better tell me exactly what happened or our little coffee break will be ending with your sorry ashes decorating this lovely new-age coffee table."

Now the punk rock vampire was smiling at her brazenly once again, her familiar banter provoking him.  "That's not what you were screaming last night, baby…"

"What?!  Spike, you—"

The vampire waved his hands in mock surrender, giving her his fangiest grin.  "I'm pullin' ya, pet.  You were smashed, said you di'nt wanna' go home, I brought you here.  End 'o story.  All completely innocent."

She glared at him searchingly for a moment, but he gazed back boldly, and eventually she nodded slightly, believing him.

"Of course, I did cop a feel or two, but that was all in fun…"

"Spike!"

He laughed, dodging her weak blow.  "Kidding, luv, kidding!  My, for someone with such a hangover, you're mighty lively, Slayer!"

She growled in irritation, downing the last of the coffee.  "Yeah, well, must be that Chosen One healing thing.  Give me five minutes and I might just be 'lively' enough to kick your ass."

It was Spike's turn to look irritated.  "Now wait a minute, I helped you!  If I hadn't shown up, there's no tellin' what sort of nasty trouble you'd 'a been in by now!"

Her gaze was withering.  "Despite what you try to convince yourself, I _don't need your help, Spike.  And I especially don't need you."  She climbed to her feet, already looking steadier, and placed the cup in front of him on the sarcophagus.  "If it's 'thanks' you're looking for, then thank you.  Otherwise, I am leaving, and I don't want to see you again."_

Turning her back on him coldly, she started for the door.  Immediately the vampire was on his feet, hackles raised at her lack of gratitude.  She had treated him with cold disdain in the past, but after seeing her last night, all inhibitions gone and clinging to him in desperation, he knew that deep down there must be something that felt for him; that needed him.  He had told her it before, had believed it so strongly, but there had been no way of showing her and now he saw his chance.  Either that or he was just desperate not to let her walk out on him again with his undead heart in shambles.

"Bloody right I'm looking for 'thanks', Slayer!" he spat angrily, fighting back his demon's attempts to surface.  He needed his human face for this, needed her to see him that way.  As a hurt person, not a hurt demon.  "I want you to thank me for all the times I've saved your ass!  I want you to show me some bloody respect for once!  Bloody hell, I gave up power for you!  I gave up my kind, I gave up killing, I gave up my very way of life!  Hell, I even gave up Dru for you, and still you…you spit on me, _Slayer!  I was givin' a million 'n one chances to kill you, and instead I helped you, risked bein' staked and tortured by my own kind, and now I've fallen in love with you and you not only turn your back on me, but you do it with hate and disgust!  So yes, yes I want to be thanked.  I want to see you look on me with something other than revulsion for once."_

Buffy was silent, her back still to him.  A tiny voice in the back of her mind wept bitterly, something in her aching painfully, but she pushed it away angrily, pulling on every ounce of hate she had in her to quiet it.  She didn't know why she did it, but the memory of pain was so strong.  _Angel.  The thought suddenly sprang to mind, unbidden, along with all the buried hopes and pain and suffering.  __Never again, a thought whispered bitterly, wiping away both vampires' images angrily.  The pain was too strong, too easily remembered after…_

Her mother.  The emotions she had pushed back, numbed by sleep and liquor, washed over her in a torrent and she began to tremble violently under the deluge.

Spike's eyebrows knitted in concern, his earlier frustration momentarily forgotten.  "Buffy?"

The trembling Slayer fought to regain control, taking several stiff steps forward.  "I…I have to…"  And suddenly she was tumbling slowly to the floor, knees buckling beneath her, eyes brimming with tears.

"Buffy!" cried Spike shortly in surprise, rushing to her side.  Leaning on her forearms on the stone floor, the petite blonde stared blankly down at the puddle slowly forming in front of her as she wept.

"Mom…Mom!" she moaned, realization hitting her for the second time in the last day.  Spike put a tentative, comforting hand on her shoulder, then slowly slid it to her back, rubbing gently.  As if some wall had burst, she turned suddenly and threw herself at his chest, burying her face in his shirt and simply letting the pain overwhelm her.

And for the second time that day, the Slayer found herself weeping in the arms of the enemy.

*           *           *

After several minutes, which dragged by like hours, Buffy seemed to have found some control.  Sniffling, she pulled away slowly, eyes still hollow, unseeing.

"Buffy, what happened?" urged Spike carefully in a low voice, although he was pretty sure without her telling him.  He was surprised to find a sinking feeling in his own chest, a feeling he remembered as sadness.  Not as if he had never felt sadness during his long existence in immortality, but never once for another human being.  After all, he had been a killer and he had hardly been inclined to weep for the death of his victims, let alone care in the least.  Caring and remorse were something only a soul could feel.

Or so he had thought.  He could sense her pain now, feel it washing over him simply by touching her, and he was appalled at the raw intensity of it.  Spike had felt nothing of it for centuries, save hollow shadows of the emotion that were mere fragments of the human part of his mind still left intact, and he felt a strange sort of longing to be able to feel so much.  Other than the characteristic demon emotions of rage, hate, and jealousy, he had been empty for so long.  

Until the Slayer began to invade his dreams.  And then the new emotions had surfaced, foreign and dusty.  At first they simply took the form of the only emotions he knew, but after time, they had become stronger and polished, and he had suddenly and inexplicably found himself looking at things in a new light.  She had said he was evil.  He was no longer sure.

"Buffy?"

He couldn't remember when he had started calling her by name.  A week ago?  A month ago?  It had just suddenly seemed right, like it would show he felt more for her than respect for one's enemy.  She didn't seem to notice.  Or rather, she didn't care.

Buffy jolted, as if she had suddenly awoken from a trance, and automatically found herself looking up at his face.  His human face; blue eyes, bleach-blonde hair, high, striking cheekbones, dark eyebrows knitted handsomely in concern.  With his vampire senses, he felt her pulse quicken, pale skin flushing, and then she was pushing him away violently, tearing her eyes away from his face in a mixture of confusion and disgust.

"I…I have to go," she muttered, hastily trying to climb to her feet.  She was still dizzy though, and a bit weak, and quickly found herself once again leaning on him for support.  Briefly, he noted how she had been too flustered to lash out at him and he softened his features further, hoping to take advantage of her weakened resistance.

"Perhaps you should lie down a bit first, pet," he murmured pointedly, helping her to her feet.  Her olive eyes met his blue ones again, searchingly, and he once again felt the spark between them, the link he had tried to convince her of before.  Buffy seemed to have noticed it too, reeling—if not physically but mentally—in surprise.  She fumbled to push him away once again, but this time he was ready and he held her arms firmly.

His earlier concerns were forgotten.  "What are you afraid of?" he whispered, eyes narrowed, searching hers in return.

She faltered, breathing heavily as if she were still struggling, although she was frozen with indecision.  Her eyes narrowed, glaring at him, but the expression was hollow, and beneath it her eyes glittered passionately.  "I'm not afraid of anything."  Her voice was low; almost a breathy rasp, but he could hear the tremor in it.

"Then why are you shaking, Buffy?" he replied, his voice so low it was nearly a growl.  His lips were now barely inches away from hers, the breath caused by his speech gently teasing her face, her heart pounding in his ears like a dull roar.  He was sure that if he had a heartbeat, it would be beating similarly as fast and was eternally glad he had none to speak of.  Already, each of them was gasping for breath as if they had run a race, despite the fact that Spike had no need for breathing and neither had moved so much as a foot in the last several minutes.

Despite the rapid beating of her heart and the roar of her pulse in her ears, Buffy clung to her stubborn resolve like a spoiled child.  Everything in her mind screamed _No!, begging to force herself to break away and run, but her traitorous body would not let her, aching towards the familiar vampire with painful longing.  __Heat…desire…hissed her feverish thoughts but she pushed them away weakly, clinging, clinging to everything she believed in.  He was a vampire.  And she was a vampire Slayer.  Angel had been an accident, an accident that could never be repeated.  Even after so much pain and death, the memory of that fated love still haunted her.  She just couldn't let that happen again._

_Wouldn't let that happen again._

"I'm not afraid of you," she corrected harshly, voice still low.  But she was.  He had nearly caused her to admit it, to herself and out loud, that some part of her needed him.  Wanted him.  Was terrifyingly attracted to him.  As long as she never admitted to it openly, she felt there was still a chance that she could get over him.  Simply walk away and move on, never dwelling on what could have been.  She was over with the what-could-have-been's, had gone through them a million times with Angel, and knew they only brought more grief.

"I can feel it, Slayer," Spike murmured softly, visibly steadying himself.  It took every ounce of willpower in him not to simply lean forward and touch her lips with his.  But he knew that he was just as close to breaking whatever resolve she had against him, and he chose his words carefully, biding his time.  "You _are afraid."_

She was wavering, and she knew it, but she faced him boldly, if not somewhat lustily.  Buffy wasn't sure anymore, wasn't sure of anything anymore.  All she could sense was him; his strong arms, his cool hands gripping her forearms firmly, and his smoky, cold smell, hinting slighting of cologne.  And the striking features of his face, icy blue eyes gazing intently at her from beneath mysterious dark brows.  There was depth in those eyes, and emotion, not at all like the soulless demon he was supposed to be, and she was hit with even more indecision.  _I love you, Buffy.  It couldn't be true, though.  It was impossible.  A demon couldn't love._

"And what am I afraid of?" she demanded, taunting him, frustration lending to her boldness.

His grasp tightened on her arms, hard enough to hold her but still too gently to harm.  

"You're afraid you'll like it," he gasped in a rush, and before she could reply, he captured her mouth with his in a demanding kiss.

They melded perfectly, his cool against her warm, and immediately she felt the surge, like electricity whipping through her body.  She tried to fight it for the briefest of moments, and then she gasped, her desire and longing overwhelming her, and the action allowed the kiss to deepen as he slipped his tongue into her slightly open mouth.  She allowed him to, feeling her blood pressure reach new heights as she did so.  Tentatively, she kissed him back, tasting his lips, his tongue, drinking him in as if she were afraid she would never again have the chance to.

Just as Buffy was finding herself more drawn into the kiss, the lusty vampire gently ended their arduous lip-lock, closing his eyes in amazement as he pulled away.  Buffy licked her lips shakily, trying to calm her panting as she watched him with wary, hopeful eyes, somewhat regretful that their first, non-spell induced kiss had ended so prematurely.

Spike seemed to be collecting himself with some difficulty, panting slightly himself.  Even after knowing how much he had wanted her, how long he had dreamt of touching her, he had never imagined that it would be this…electrifying.  Part of him wanted to grab her and finish what he had started, but something told him to pull back and wait.  Now was not the time.  She was still confused, unwilling to admit to the fire brewing between them.  Now she had a taste of him, and that was enough.

He opened his eyes and the lust and depth was still there, looking at her with tightly controlled desire.  But his jaw was set commandingly, pushing his feelings aside for the moment.  "Now…try 'n tell me there's nothing between us."

Somewhat reluctantly he released her, and turning, disappeared into the gloom of the crypt, leaving Buffy to sort through her warring emotions until the fall of night.

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Chapter 1

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter One**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story.  "You Don't See Me" is by Josie and the Pussycats._

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: I slightly re-vamped the first 2 chapters, for those of you who made some helpful suggestions.  To those of you who reviewed and made said suggestions, thank you!  Your opinions and suggestions were and are highly appreciated!

I hope you'll agree with my editing—I agree that Spike did use some British slang too much, so I went back through and toned that down a bit.  I also got rid of the description of Dawn's hair as 'strawberry blonde'—I'm still not sure how you'd describe her hair color, so I just stayed away from describing it at all…^_^;;

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter One 

"Yeah, I'm fine, Willow.  I just needed some time to…sort out my feelings."

"Are you sure?  Maybe-maybe the two of us could have a, a girl's night out.  Or in, or whatever, you know what I mean.  We could have ice cream and watch chick flicks, or, or—"

"Will, really, I'm fine.  Besides, I don't really think chick flicks would be the best idea right now."

"Oh, right.  Well, if you need to talk we could just do that.  I'm a great listener."

Buffy twirled the phone cord around her fingers lazily, sighing inwardly at the look of concern she just knew was on her best friend's face.  Evening had fallen barely forty-five minutes ago and she had hardly made it in the door but five minutes ago when the phone had already rung.  She couldn't really blame her friends, though, since she had been gone for a night and day with no word as to where or how she was—they were bound to get a little worried.  The blonde appreciated the sweet brainy witch's concern more than anyone's, but being a Slayer, she had found that sympathy and pity were almost as hard to bear as the demons and evil she fought.

"I know, Will.  I really appreciate the offer, but I think if I just get back into the swing of things right away, I'll be alright."

"Sure, Buffy.  Do you want…Xander or me to patrol with you?  I can always help Giles research some other night."

Buffy smiled to herself slightly.  "Nah.  Besides, it should be pretty dead tonight, what with Glory the Shoe Goddess in town.  Not as many free-roaming baddies these days, y'know."

"Yeah, they're all organized now.  You sure you'll be okay on your own, though?"

"You mean am I prone to waterworks at inopportune moments, such as in the midst of some heated staking?"  She shook her head slightly, despite the fact that the young witch was unable to see the action.  "Again, Willow, I really appreciate your concern, but I've got things under control.  Really."

On the other end, Willow seemed to sigh and think for a moment.  "Okay.  I'll step down now.  You can't even see my resolve face from there so I guess I'll just have to take your word."

Buffy smiled, mock glaring.  "And you can't see my determined face so we'll just call it a draw.  I'll stop by the shop after patrol to check in with all of you.  You're having another research-a-thon on Glory tonight?"

"In progress as we speak!" crowed Willow in a gruff voice.  "Which reminds me, I should probably be getting back to the books now.  Giles keeps clearing his throat really loudly—I think he's trying to get my attention."

Buffy couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Giles' face.  "You're probably exceeding his calling plan.  Its okay, I'd better go, too.  Daylight's wasting.  Well, actually…_no…light's wasting…never mind."_

"I got it.  Bye, Buffy."

"Bye, Willow.  I'll stop by later, 'kay?"  A frown crossed the young woman's features, suddenly remembering something.  "Wait!  Will, Dawn!  How is Dawn?"

"Don't worry.  Dawn stayed with Giles last night—we didn't want to bother you.  She's doing okay…She's really quiet but I think she'll be okay.  We can keep an eye on her here until you get done with patrol, Buffy, it's no problem."

The young Slayer looked troubled; slightly horrified she had completely forgotten about her little sister in the muddle of the previous night.  Her little sister that was much more than a fourteen-year-old girl.  _You can't just lose your head like that again, Buffy! she thought, __What would we do if something happened to the Key?_

_Losing your head…The Slayer felt herself warming pleasantly, remembering the feel of Spike's lips against hers.  __Is that what happened back at the crypt?  Shaking herself mentally of the memory, she turned her mind back to present matters.  She definitely couldn't afford to lose her head again.  There was too much on the line when you were the Chosen One._

"Ah, thanks, Willow.  Can I talk to her?  No, no wait!  Just tell her…Tell her I love her.  And I'm sorry."

Willow was silent for a moment, but then she spoke warmly from the other end.  "Right.  'Night, Buffy."

"'Night, Willow."

She continued to stare at the phone even after the line had gone dead.  For a moment she regretted not asking for one of her friends to go patrolling with her, but then, remembering the previous day's activities, she decided it was just as well.  She needed a cool-off, to think about things.  And what better way to release stress than fighting the odd vampire or various night-roaming forces of evil?

Hefting her Slayer bag with a lightness of step she didn't quite feel in her heart, Buffy Summers, Chosen One, went out to kick some demon butt.  For evil's sake, she hoped it would be a slow night.

*           *           *

Xander leaned back in his chair reflexively, pushing aside the book he had been going through with little interest for the time being.  "Let me take a wild guess.  She said she's fine and she appreciates your concern but she believes that her duty is more important than taking the time to mope pathetically and sort through the tangle of emotions she's experiencing?"

Willow nodded sagely, taking a seat at the large table currently littered with an assortment of half-opened books.  "And she's going patrolling by herself in order to 'think things through'."

The young man sighed, a bit irritably, and reluctantly turned back to his reading.  "Sounds like the Chosen One I know."

Across the room, Anya looked up from her work at the counter.  The Magic Box was currently closed, but the demon-girl was still busily at work with the accounts.  She seemed to have a strange perversion with counting the money, bordering on the greedy, but since she was so good at it, her obsession didn't seem to bother Giles.  Too much.

"Is this…a bad thing?" she spoke up curiously, pushing strands of wheat-blonde curls away from her face.

"Bad for things that go bump in the night," muttered Xander, stifling a yawn.  Research was definitely not his thing.

"Good for us, though," spoke up Willow, looking speculative.  "I-if she doesn't get killed, that is."

Anya looked a bit confused.  "Right.  That would be bad."  Reassured, she turned back to her accounting with eager diligence.

Nose firmly in a large dusty tome, Giles wandered in from the back room, hardly glancing at the others from across the worn pages.  "I do believe you might be worrying just a bit too much about Buffy.  I must admit I was quite concerned about how she would fare after such a travesty but I've been quite impressed by the maturity of her bereavement thus far.  She seems to be dealing quite well, which is not so surprising considering the ordeals she has endured in the past."

Xander's face contorted into a slight sneer.  "Yeah, she's a real brick wall."  There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone.

Giles looked inquisitive.  "You don't agree, Xander?"

"No," he stated firmly, pushing his chair back.  "Look, I've known this girl since the tenth grade—"

"Well that's not very long," commented Anya pointedly.

Xander looked slightly irritated at being interrupted but didn't reply.  He continued: "—and though it doesn't seem a very long time, I do think I've figured her out a bit by now.  She pretends to be all brave and 'over it' around her friends, and then she goes to her current boyfriend and bawls her eyes out for awhile until she decides to just tough up and forget about it.  Or, in this case since she is minus one boyfriend, she bawls her eyes out alone, but nevertheless it's still the same cycle."

Willow looked slightly hurt at her friend's bluntness, fixing him with a stern glance.  "Xander!"

"Ah, might I remind you that both Willow and I met Buffy the same day as you?" pointed out the Watcher tentatively.  When Xander simply glared impatiently at him, Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Yes, well, I do see your point, Xander.  But don't you think you are being somewhat…"

"Insensitive?"  The brown-haired young man eyed his best friend and mentor somewhat challengingly.  But then he nodded acquiescence, sighing wearily.  "Yeah.  And I'm sorry.  I just don't think bottling everything up is a great way of handling your mother's death.  Especially when so many people count on you to be the strong one."

Willow looked hesitant to agree.  "She is strong, though, Xander.  And I don't think she's bottling it up, not really."

"I just don't want her going 'Carrie' on everyone because she refuses to ask for help.  And don't think she won't."

"'Carrie'?  Is that a bad thing?  A demon?" inquired Anya, looking confused.  Willow and Xander took a breath as if to explain, then shook their heads dismissively, deciding not to bother.

Giles seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion of his own, closing the tome gently and adding it to the pile of books already covering the table.  "I appreciate your concerns, Xander…both of you, actually.  But I think that the person that deserves most concern right now would be Dawn."

The others seemed to wilt, an uncomfortable sorrow befalling the atmosphere.  Willow was first to speak, eyeing the graying Englishman with concerned eyes.  "How is she?"

Giles seemed to pause momentarily.  Removing his glasses, he proceeded to clean them gently, sliding into an open chair at the table.  "The same, I'm afraid.  She's hardly spoken since last night.  I do believe she's experiencing a slightly premature form of shock."

Xander looked pained.  "Is she still back in the work-out room?"

Giles nodded, replacing his glasses with a long sigh.  The others could see the strain he had been through in the last two days.  As Watcher, he automatically considered matters concerning Buffy and the rest of the Scooby Gang as his responsibility, regardless of what anyone may tell him otherwise.  He could feign un-involvement, but inwardly, the entire weight was on his shoulders.  It some ways, it was his duty.  In others, it was merely undying compassion for his young protégé and friends.

Calmly, Xander stood up.  "I'll go check on her," he remarked tightly, leaving the others and heading towards the back room connected to the store which held Buffy's training and work-out supplies.  Despite the solemnity of the action, they could see his relief at getting out of research duty.

Willow nodded, squaring her shoulders and turning back to her books business-like.  "And we should get back to researching.  We've got a long ways to go."

Finished with her money-counting, Anya joined the young witch and middle-aged Watcher at the round table, sorting through books methodically in hopes of finding something useful.  "Alright, I'm through with my work.  I'll help you."

Giles selected an old, threadbare volume labeled, _Of Gods and Demons: A Resource Guide from the scattered pile, flipping carefully through the contents.  "Yes.  These last two days have been quite trying but we still have Glory to worry about.  Currently, all we know is that she is a hell god, and a quite vengeful one at that."_

"And that she wants the "Key", er…Dawn," added Anya helpfully, pushing away her current book in favor of another more promising one.

"That doesn't leave us with much to work with," commented Willow a bit sourly, pursing her lips in concentration.  Anya nodded agreeably.

Giles raised an eyebrow curiously at something he was reading.  "If we had more, ah, credible resources on gods and deities, we might be able to find some basis to work with."  He turned the book so that Willow could read the passage he had found so interesting:

_And the Goddess's shall rise from their ivory towers of the nether and bring either great rejoicing and bounty to the land of the Chosen or an unending plague that will strip all of their souls for the Sin they have brought upon themselves, the Unworthy and Damned.  And so shall it be, in the dawning of the twenty-first century when the apocalypse is decided._

The redhead's voice was clear and barren as she read the passage aloud.  She raised an eyebrow incredulously, clearing her throat slightly.  "A little late for that.  Like, a year late.  At least we know we're safe somewhat.  For now."

Anya didn't look up from her own reading.  "There should be another apocalypse in another hundred or so years.  They're set on this regular cycle sort of thing that goes off after a certain period of time unless some demon or other tampers with it.  Then they just wait until the next allotted time and so forth.  It's a very sophisticated system."

Her two comrades shared unlikely glances.  "If we are even that fortunate…" murmured Giles a tad too darkly, shakily removing his glasses to wipe a handkerchief across his brow.

Willow shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, changing the subject.  "Uh, anyway, maybe we should focus on information about the Key right now.  Tara said she would look through her Wiccan books on anything about gods and hell gods, so if she finds anything she'll call us."

Both Giles and Anya nodded, the former still looking somewhat disquieted by Anya's revelation.

"Right.  So what kind of Key is Dawn supposed to be?" asked Anya, eyebrows furrowing thoughtfully.

"Those who saw Dawn for what she truly was remarked that she was 'a thing' or that there was 'no data'—whatever that is meant to imply," reminded Giles gently, "I do not believe we are looking for information on an actual _physical key, so to speak, but a key in the metaphorical sense."_

Anya looked bewildered.  "Oh."

Pulling her nose out of her book, Willow fixed the blonde demon with a helpful smile.  "What Giles is trying to say, is Dawn isn't physically a key, she's the key to something.  Like, in a spell.  Certain ingredients are key to the spell's success."

"Well, if you must put it so succinctly…"

The over-a-millennium old demon seemed to grasp the young witch's concept more readily than the somewhat proper Watcher's explanation.  After a moment, another concern seemed to have occurred to her, however.  "That still leaves us with little to work with.  If we knew what Dawn was the Key _to it would be a whole lot easier."_

Giles seemed a bit miffed.  "Well, of course.  That's what we're researching for."

Willow smiled cheerily, picking another book from the pile before them.  "And so the search continues…"

"I still think I should get paid overtime for this," remarked Anya loudly, face expressionless as always.

"Anya, do be quiet."

"Okey-doke!"

The three went back to their reading, noses deep in the old and scattered books before them, deep in concentration.  Putting aside his current book with slight frustration, the old Watcher reached for a large book balanced precariously in the very center of the pile.  As if on cue, a small thin book hardly an inch in width tumbled noiselessly from underneath it, landing open in the slightly surprised Englishman's lap.  Putting his chosen book aside, he picked up the book from where it had fallen, staring at what was written on the open page with unbridled curiosity.

"How peculiar…" he muttered, somewhat to himself.

Willow looked up from her reading with curiosity.  "Hmm?"

Laying the open book on the table, the Watcher continued to read, his confusion and curiosity evident.  "This book.  I believe it is the same book that I found lying open on the table this morning once you and the others had left."

The young witch looked even more confused.  "Do you know where it came from?"

"I have no idea," remarked Giles, befuddled.  "I do not recall even having such a book in stock."

Anya shifted inquisitively, trying to read over the baffled man's shoulder.  "What does it say?"

The Watcher cleared his throat reflexively.  "It appears to be some sort of…children's story.  A fable, if I must.  It reads, 

…Said the butterfly to the Unicorn, "You can find the others if you are brave.  They passed down all the roads long ago and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints."  With a courtly bow, he landed before the great creature's ivory hoof, inclining his head respectfully.  "His firstling bull has majesty, and his horns are the horns of a wild ox!  With them he shall push the unicorns, all of them, to the ends of the earth!"

Giles trailed off, looking at the blank space where the rest of the words had been smeared into an unidentifiable whirl of black ink and browned paper.  "It ends there.  Something appears to have spilt and smeared the rest of the text."

Both girls seemed to ruminate on the appearance of the strange book momentarily, forgetting their earlier research.  "Perhaps the-the title can tell us something," suggested Willow finally, marking the open page with her finger and turning the book over to its cover.  The cover's only identifiable marks were the words "Metulj Srce" in worn gilt letters, leaving the three researchers further perplexed.

"What's 'Metal-J…Certs' supposed to mean?" asked Anya bluntly, stumbling over the strange words.

Giles seemed just as perplexed as the demon-girl, pushing his glasses up on his nose in discomfort.  "I…I'm not sure.  I don't quite recognize the language.  It may be an old gypsy tongue but I can't be sure."

"It's a little strange that it just suddenly appeared, but obviously it's not going to help us discern the importance of the Key," pushed Willow slowly.  Giles nodded in agreement, taking the book from her and bringing it over to the store's counter.

"Yes.  Butterflies and unicorns are of no use to us right now.  I'm sure the book must have been left by some customer.  I'll just keep it over here until it's reclaimed."

Stretching somewhat in her chair, Anya looked reluctantly at the piles of so far useless books before them.  "So…more research?"

Giles and Willow both nodded, resuming their relentless search.  "Right.  More research."

*           *           *

The punching bag swung uselessly on its tether, the teenaged girl's half-hearted punches barely denting its thick bulk.  Staring at the far wall of the room with blank, unseeing eyes, she struck it again with stiff, mechanical movements.  Her heart wasn't in it, wasn't in anything.  Every sense felt numb, overcome with an emptiness that hovered just out of reach on the edges of her consciousness, and if it weren't for the solid feel of the punching bag under her hand, she was sure that it would swallow her.

Pulling her eyes from their dazed stare, she focused on the worn object beneath her hand.  It felt real.  She felt real, her pulse humming slowly and methodically in her ears in time to her heartbeat.  But she was not real.  Suddenly the punching bag on it's gently spinning tether seemed miles away, her pulse a half-forgotten memory in her ears.  _She was not real._

It perplexed her and pained her.  How could she not be real?  She bled, she cried, she felt such pain overwhelming her in numbing torrents.  She remembered, and the memories hurt.  Her mother was dead and she was devastated.  But it wasn't her mother.  And she wasn't real.

Biting her lip in frustration and despair against the tears, the Key punched the hanging bag angrily, relishing in the pain it brought to her tightly bunched fist on contact.  Physical pain was real.  She needed more of that kind of pain.

So intent in her frustration, she didn't even notice when someone else entered the gym-like room.

"Helps, doesn't it?" remarked Xander softly, crossing his arms uncomfortably in the doorway.

Dawn gasped in surprise, upset at being caught off-guard.  She nodded numbly, turning back to the punching bag with a firmly set jaw.  "It hurts.  But I control it, so it doesn't have to hurt."

Xander nodded wisely, watching her continue to hit the bag with fierce intensity.  "You're just like your sister.  Buffy usually goes out to kick some undead-ass when she's upset."  He seemed a bit embarrassed momentarily.  "Of course, you already knew that."

Dawn didn't answer, but he saw the pained look on her face.  He cleared his throat uncomfortably, not so sure that offering himself as a comforting shoulder was going to be as easy as he thought.  Granted, he had meant well when he told the others he would check on Dawn, but once here, he wasn't so sure of what to do, as he often was.

"So, mind if I join?"

The fourteen-year-old paused for a split-second, and then nodded slightly.  "Be my guest."

Careful not to hit it too hard, Xander joined her at beating on the worn punching bag, adding a few experimental kicks he had observed Buffy doing before.  Glancing at the younger girl out of the corner of his eye, he mulled over his words for a moment, and then turned back to his half-hearted work-out.

"You think its dead yet?  It's not putting up much of a fight," he commented ruefully, abandoning his former words of comfort for his usual humorous attempts.

Dawn was still silent.  Xander cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Hey, you seen any good Hong Kong action movies lately?  Those kung-fu guys can dish out some pretty wicked moves."

The girl was silent for a moment, and then she paused in her bored attacks, fixing Xander with a pained yet blank expression.  "You don't have to talk.  I know you're trying to help but…I've heard enough talk for now.  I don't want to think about it."  She turned back to the punching bag with renewed ferocity, nearly knocking the bag into the young man's face with the force of her blows.  "I just want to hit something right now."

Xander was silent for several moments, watching the look of concentration on Dawn's face.  Finally he nodded, smiling wanly, and joined her again in her endless fight with the beleaguered bag.

*           *           *

"Bloody hell…"

Flicking the ashes of his last cigarette into the wind, Spike gave the empty pack one last hopeful tap then tossed it away with disgust.  It had been over three hours since he had dropped the Slayer off at her house.  Three hours of pacing, thinking, and smoking.  His pack empty, he looked around for something else to still his mind, but there wasn't much to find in an empty graveyard.  He regretted not bringing another pack.  Or his flask.

The bad habits didn't bother him in the least, seeing as he was dead—or rather, undead—but sometimes he regretted having started them in the first place, because when you got down to it, they were all he had.  No friends, no place to go, and no hobbies.  Well, other than his little-spoken _Passions fetish and a few other strange pastimes, but those didn't count.  No, he was a vampire, an immortal being, with no place in life.  And it was getting rather boring._

So here he was.  What better place than a graveyard for a vampire with nothing better to do but wait and hope…and relieve a little frustration on some unsuspecting demon?  Currently he was experiencing a lull in the current evil undead population, which irked him somewhat.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the shadows shifted slightly behind a nearby mausoleum with the movement of some unseen attacker.  Grinning tightly, Spike noted the movement out of the corner of his eye and snuffed the exhausted butt of his cigarette on a nearby gravestone.

"And here I thought I'd have to wait another hour for any action."

Realizing it had been spotted, the lone vampire relinquished its shadow skulking, coming into the pale moonlight that lit the vacant cemetery.  Game face already on, it crept forward with a cautious predatory step, and Spike smiled inwardly to himself at the obviously newly-awakened vampire's jerky movements.

Things were looking up.

Running its tongue over its newly-sharpened teeth, the undead creature continued to creep forward, eyeing the casual looking peroxide-blonde with an ancient hunger Spike was all too familiar with.  "Action, huh?  I don't think you know what kind of action you're getting yourself into, blondie."

Spike stifled an amused laugh, smiling at the other vampire with his familiar "Big Bad" grin; lips parted, teeth slightly biting his lower lip.  "Alright, mate.  And just what type of action would that be?"

Instead of answering, the other vampire leapt forward, hopping a headstone with ease and rushed the smiling, leather-clad Brit.  Chuckling slightly, Spike easily dodged the amateur attack, straightening up from his casual position against a stone angel and casually hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans.

"Well, sod it all!  You were trying to attack me!"

Regaining his footing, the newbie vamp spun around angrily, hissing in annoyance.  "What the—?  I'll get ya this time, smarty-pants!"  He prepared to rush the British vampire again but Spike put up a hand, halting him.

"Can't you recognize your soddin' brethren, moron?" he demanded in an impatient tone, showing the other vampire his game face for a brief moment.  He reverted back to his human face, preferring it as a sign of experience.

The other vampire was taken aback, staring at Spike with stupid amazement.  "You're a…vampire, too?"

"Last time I checked, pillock."

He continued to stare at the older vampire with awe, befuddled by his human appearance.  "How'd you do that?  With your face?"

Spike flicked an eyebrow in amusement.  "You really are a newbie, aren't 'cha, mate?"  He shrugged his shoulders casually, inwardly getting impatient.  He was tired of this game.  It was time to end it.  "It's simple.  Just concentrate on pushin' aside the hunger…"

He watched the young vampire close its eyes in concentration, its features slowly reverting back to its former human form.  With a casualness borne of experience, Spike pulled the stake hidden within his duster and hefted it experimentally, sidling over to the trusting demon.

"…And don't forget to watch your back."  With an almost offhand flick of the wrist, he plunged the stake into the unsuspecting vampire's back, dusting it before it could even remark on its newfound talent.  Dusting his hands off methodically, he returned the stake to his duster, one hand automatically straying to the pocket that usually held his pack of cigarettes.  He frowned irritably, looking down at the pile of ashes with obvious frustration.

"Bloody hell.  Should've asked the bloke if 'e had any fags on him."  Shrugging, he turned his back on the former vampire to further patrol the mostly uneventful graveyard.  Maybe his next victim would be a chain-smoker.

*           *           *

Buffy looked at her watch impatiently, stifling a yawn.  It had been roughly three hours, and so far she hadn't seen as much as a rat, let alone anything undead.  Just as she had expected, it was a dead night.  Good for the citizens of Sunnydale, bad for her jumpy nerves.

"What I wouldn't give for a crazy, bloodthirsty vampire to leap out at me right now," she sighed in frustration, easing a cramp out of her neck.  She was dying for a distraction, any distraction, to get Spike off her mind.  Ever since that afternoon…in his crypt…For the life of her, she couldn't seem to get him out of her head, despite her best efforts.  She would have liked to brush it off as just a kiss but it was obvious it hadn't been just a kiss.  Both of them had known it and she had felt the spark.  There was no denying it was there now.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her from trying to deny it.  To him, just as before, and to herself.  Here, alone with her thoughts in an empty cemetery, she couldn't seem to escape the truth of the matter, though.  She had feelings for Spike.  _Wrong, bad, icky__ feelings, she thought to herself sourly.  __Wrong, wrong, unforgivable, disgusting—_

_Hot, lusty, longing, wonderful feelings.  She sighed to herself, picturing his strikingly handsome features and imagining the feel of his cold lips against her fevered skin.  __Stop it, Buffy!  It's Spike, __for the love of God!  The memory of her hands on his hard, firm chest stopped her in her mental berating, and her body betrayed her once again.  __Yes…Spike…_

"I think it's about time to call it a night," she muttered to herself aloud, shaking away her romantic daydreaming and retrieving her Slayer gear from a nearby headstone.  She was just about to leave, when a tiny sound stopped her.  It was brief, and hard to decipher; had it not been for her Slayer senses, she wouldn't have caught it at all.  She froze immediately, scanning the darkness for signs of an attack.  When no attack came, she resumed her walk cautiously, senses on the alert.

She was nearly out of the graveyard when she felt another jerk in her Slayer senses.  Following the feeling with her eyes, she spotted a nearby grave-marker.  It was an expensive looking oddity, an enormous white marble pillar with the conflicting figures of a snarling, wicked looking gargoyle and utterly innocent looking cherub perched cozily on its smooth base.  Guessing by the cleanliness of it and the fact that she hadn't seen it there before, it had to be quite new.

And bathed in heavy shadow, it was the perfect place for a predator to hide in wait of prey.

Silently slipping a stake from the inner pocket of her jacket, Buffy continued her casual walk, eyeing the sculptured marker with anticipation.  It seemed she would see some action tonight, after all.

Still creeping silently, she was just flanking the darkened pillar when a figure rushed her from behind with calculated cunning.  In a flash, she had spun around to face her attacker, one arm up to block a blow and the other ready with the stake, leg poised for a kick.  But her attacker had backed away just in time, narrowly missing her kick, just as caught off-guard as the Slayer.

"Well sod it all, it's just you, Slayer," grumbled the familiar bleach-blonde vampire, half disappointed, half glad to see her.  He straightened his duster self-consciously, seething inwardly at being caught so completely off-guard.

Buffy fixed the punk rock vampire with a stern glare, ignoring the flush in her face.  "Spike, what are you doing here?" she demanded harshly, finding herself avoiding his eyes despite her best efforts to appear indifferent.  Silently she cursed herself for not being able to recognize him with her Slayer senses in the first place.

Spike eyed the young woman uncomfortably, noting the uncertainty in her stance as well.  He felt oddly off-balance after that afternoon.  Shrugging his shoulders casually so as not to let her see his discomfort, he gave her a self-assured glance.  "Same as you, I'd guess.  Out for a stroll, lookin' for a good spot 'o violence."  Much to his pleasure, he noticed the rise of color in her face.

Uncharacteristically flustered, Buffy lowered her stake, staring at the blue-eyed vampire with an unreadable expression.  Finally she seemed to shake herself uncertainly, turning back on her original path.  "Go home," she insisted, almost pleadingly, eyebrows furrowed uneasily.

He watched her go for a moment, puzzling over her anew.  Then he hurried after her.  "You look like you could use some company, pet," he offered, catching up with her.

She didn't look at him, staring intently forward, but he could see the twitch in her cheek.  "No."  

Even from his distance, Spike could sense the quickening of her pulse.  He continued diligently, matching her pace for pace as they continued their walk, a slight smile touching his lips.  

"Come on, Buffy.  Don't tell me we've gone back to the 'cold shoulder' bit, now."

"No," bit out Buffy with controlled features.  "We're at the 'I don't want to see you anymore' bit, now."

Spike pursed his lips thoughtfully, mulling over her reply for several seconds.  "No.  I don't think that's it, luv."

Finally, Buffy spun on her heal, halting them both as she turned to glare at him.  Once again, Spike noted her glare held little animosity, but he kept his features blank.

"Then what is it, Spike?" she demanded sharply, frustrated.  Frustrated because she for once honestly didn't know what to do.  She hadn't been prepared to face him again just yet, and yet there he had been, practically waiting for her.  Half of her wanted to grab him by the lapels and kiss him until her lungs burst, while the other half wished he would just disappear forever.  _No!  I don't want him to go!  I want him to stay, stay forever in my arms…_

Reflexively she shook away the thought that had sprung unbidden into her mind, recoiling at the intensity of it.  "What, do you think things have changed between us?  Because of…what happened?"  She was raving, her frustrations and confusion overcoming her.  "It was an accident!  It was just…an accident!  You…me…It wasn't suppose to happen!  Never!  Forget about it, Spike, because—"

"Forget about what?"  His features were tight, hardened by years of violence and emptiness.

Forgetting his doubts, he stepped closer, frustrations of his own taking over.  "Forget about the dreams?  The ache?  The hollowness I feel without you?"  He sneered derisively, waving a hand with an indecisive movement.  "You're telling me to forget about something I have no control over, damnit, something I never wanted to feel in the first place but, bloody hell! here I am, loving you more than ever!"

She was turning away and he grabbed her shoulders firmly, forcing her to look him in the eyes.  Blue eyes, pained and deep and brimming with passion.  "You think you're the only one, the only one who's fighting what you feel.  But I did.  I did for a bloody damn long time, Slayer!  But there's no getting over it, pet, believe me.  I've learned that now."  His features softened, eyebrows furrowing with the pain of his longing.  "I'm stuck with this curse for all eternity, whether you love me back or not.  And don't say you don't, Slayer!  I can see it in your eyes."  He closed his eyes in an attempt to collect himself, feeling her heat wash over him; a painful reminder of his own lack of true humanity.  "Can…feel your blood rush…God, can I feel it!"

She stared back at him, feeling the desire wash over her in a rush at his heated words.  She was gasping, her mind weakly attempting to fight it, but the longing was so strong.  "Let go of me," she whispered hoarsely, but she was frozen, making no move to push him away.

He pierced her with a firm glance.  "If you really want me to let go, push me yourself, Buffy.  But you can't make me do it.  Not anymore."  She seemed to hold her breath; desire, longing, and desperation flashing in her olive-green eyes.  He stepped closer then, gaining little resistance, and his lips just grazing her neck, spoke softly against her ear, "You can't do it, can you?"

Her only reply was a soft moan escaping her lips.  Pulling away again, he gently brushed her hair aside from her face, looking at her with tenderness unbefitting his vicious reputation and gently caught her chin with his thumb.

Buffy closed her eyes expectantly, resolves dissolving under the intensity of his words.  A warm tremble worked its way down her spine, and she felt his lips graze hers…

…And with a vicious jolt, he pushed her roughly to the ground, pulling her into an evasive roll across the hard dirt.  "Duck!" he yelped gruffly in belated warning.  She heard the rush of cloth on air and the muffled thump of a body making impact with a tombstone, just as the second vampire that had been lying in wait rushed at them, hissing angrily.

Kiss forgotten, Spike leapt to his feet, immediately falling into full combat mode. With true martial artist's grace, he spun his leg up in a smooth arc, catching the vampire across the chest with a well-aimed kick.  Caught off-guard, the vampire stumbled under the hit but was quickly back on its feet, lashing out at the peroxide-blonde with a heavy fist.  Spike dodged the punch, ducking to grab the vamp's offending arm.  Using its own leverage against it, he flipped the vamp on its back, pinning its arms down at its sides.

Still in his human face but clearly enraged, he snarled viciously into the downed vamp's face, eyes flashing.  "Interfere with my love-life, will you?!"  Snarling, he grabbed the other by the collar and jerking him to his feet, tossed him with offhanded disgust into a nearby headstone.

Meanwhile, Buffy had jumped to her own feet and was easily fighting off the first vampire's attacks.  Knocking away its initial attack with a swift roundhouse to the jaw, she followed through with a well-aimed elbow to the solar plexus, further disabling it for the time being and buying her just enough time to scramble for the stake that had fallen from her jacket when she'd hit the ground.  Her back to it for a moment, the angry vamp—having recovered quicker than she had hoped—took the opportunity to attack her supposedly unprotected back, fangs bared.  Spinning around just in time, she swung her leg about, knocking its feet out from under it, and grabbed her stake from the ground next to her, back-flipping away as it swung at her in retaliation.

Weapon finally in hand, she faced off with the angry vampire, legs akimbo in a fighter's stance.  "Okay, buddy, you picked the wrong time to try and kill me.  Where were you earlier when I was _looking for a fight?"_

The vampire didn't answer her, snarling in irritation.  It rushed her again, swiping at her with wicked claws.

Nearby, Spike and the other vampire had each other firmly by the shoulders as they danced around the headstones in fierce, head-to-head combat.  Cursing angrily, Spike rammed his opponent into the large pillar Buffy had noted earlier, loosening its grip on him enough to disentangle himself.  The vampire roared in pain and anger, bringing its knee up hard into the punk rocker's gut, but Spike merely ground him harder against the polished marble, waiting until he heard the crack of bones to relinquish his hold.  Panting angrily, he gave the smaller vampire several fierce blows to the face and retrieved the stake from his duster, prepared to end their deadly dance.

His opponent had other plans, however.  Catching Spike by surprise, the seemingly beaten vamp dove at him in a football tackle, driving him heavily into the dirt.  The two rolled about the dusty ground, each trying in vain to gain an advantage over the other as they tumbled between the scattered headstones.

So far, Buffy had been able to avoid her opponent's erratic attacks.  Seeing its comrade's methods working, the vamp now came at her with slightly more cunning, hitting her with a similar tackle and knocking her into a nearby tombstone, sending the stake flying from her hand.  She grunted in pain, hearing the crack of her skull against the cold stone and feeling the warm trickle of blood roll down the back of her neck.  The smell of blood seemed to encourage the vampire further, and it dove on her hungrily, preparing to sink its fangs into her unprotected neck.

Still slightly dazed from the impact, Buffy lashed out with her fists in the nick of time, boxing its ears viciously.  If she had been a normal person, the blow would have dazed it, maybe even popped its eardrums.  Being the Slayer and having superhuman strength, it crushed its skull.

Pushing the crumpled, unconscious form off of herself, she struggled to her feet, preparing to stake the vamp at last.  "Okay, time to end this.  Like they say, 'Ashes to ashes and dust to dust'…"

Without warning, there was a violent rush of wind and a brilliant flash of crimson light, blinding her until she was forced to raise her arms to shield her face from the violently whipping wind.  Sand and grit bit into her flesh and she gasped, choking, as the smoldering air burnt at her lungs.  Above the rush of the wind a cry met her ears; a chilling, unearthly cry of pure animal rage cut through by the mournful lowing of some immortal beast.  She tried to tear her eyes open against the light and rushing air, but the heat and dust overwhelmed her and she could no longer gasp for breath in the cloying, dust-filled torrent.

Lungs burning, she lurched forward and faded unwillingly into unconsciousness.

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Chapter 2

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter Two**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story._

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: I slightly re-vamped the first 2 chapters, for those of you who made some helpful suggestions.  To those of you who reviewed and made said suggestions, thank you!  Your opinions and suggestions were and are highly appreciated!

I hope you'll agree with my editing—I agree that Spike did use some British slang too much, so I went back through and toned that down a bit.  I also got rid of the description of Dawn's hair as 'strawberry blonde'—I'm still not sure how you'd describe her hair color, so I just stayed away from describing it at all…^_^;;

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter Two 

For one brief moment, Spike was crouched triumphantly over his beaten foe, arm poised to stake, and in the next, everything was swallowed in red.

Screaming fiercely, the raging cyclone bore into him, flinging the wooden stake from his hand and tearing at exposed flesh with an intense heat not unlike that of a raging fire, picking up loose sand as it went and throwing it back at his unprotected skin in tiny missiles that tore into him like thousands of red hot needles.  He threw up an arm, frantically trying to protect his bare face with the thick leather of his duster, shocked by the suddenness of the red whirlwind.

The heat was almost unbearable, assaulting him as if to burn the very clothes off his back, climbing up his nostrils and down his throat to sear at his lungs.  He gagged against the cloying heat, coughing hoarsely and clamping his mouth shut tight in defiance, praying the heat wouldn't be enough to start him afire.  Secretly thanking the fact that he didn't require breathing, he scrabbled blindly along the ground, feeling his way towards Buffy's unconscious form.  Though she may be the Slayer—more than human with superhuman strength—she still required breathing, and he knew she must be in trouble.

He stumbled on something solid, catching himself on a nearby headstone.  The vampire Buffy had been fighting just moments before.  Skirting the supposedly unconscious body without so much as a second thought, he chanced a glance from under the protection of his duster and spotted the petite Slayer sprawled several feet away, face-down in the dirt.  

_Buffy!  Hold on, luv!  Regardless of his own protection, he tore the heavy duster from his shoulders, draping it over the petite young woman's frame and wrapping her up in the thick leather with one hasty movement, pulling her tightly against his chest to keep the hungry, burning wind from beating her further.  Unable to open his eyes further than a crack in the melee of stinging sand bearing down on him, he blearily spotted the huge marble pillar, looming like a giant pawn in the whirlwind of sand.  Stumbling half-blindly, gritting his teeth against the heat and sand, Spike hurried for the far side of the marble pillar, holding his precious cargo tightly against him.  Once in the lee of the sturdy edifice, he immediately fell to the dirt, pinning the Slayer beneath him protectively and shielding her from the whirlwind with the bulk of his own body._

Immediately he could sense the lull in the winds, a furious low like that of a cattle cutting through the screaming winds with eerie clarity as the burning light drained slowly away like the fast-dying of a sun.  Almost as suddenly as it had come upon them, the unearthly winds began to abate, and finally died altogether, leaving only an eerie stillness on the damp night air.

Hesitantly he raised his head, listening intently to be sure that the whirlwind was truly gone.  After several seconds of silence, the night sounds slowly began to return.

As he lay there, metaphorically catching his breath in the aftermath of the strange cyclone, it slowly dawned on him that the Slayer was eerily still.  A buzzing panic beginning to fill his head, he tore away the duster—staring at the pale, still form for a brief second—then immediately put an ear to her chest.  The heartbeat was faint, and slowly fading, and putting his fingers to her lips, he found them still and breathless.

"Oh God…Buffy!" he gasped desperately, roughly shaking her shoulders in a vain effort to revive her.  "Come on, luv.  Don't die on me now!"

Taking in huge gulps of air, he tilted her head back gently, desperately trying to breathe air into her.  He had never given CPR before, only seen it on television, and since he was unused to breathing in the first place, he was quickly dizzy with his efforts.  Still, the petite blonde Slayer lay deathly still.

Growling fiercely into the empty night air, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders once again.  "Bloody hell, _breathe, you silly chit!  You can't die like this, not like some bloody goddamned mortal!!  You're the Slayer!"_

Taking another deep breath, he attempted to breathe life into her once again for all he was worth.

*           *           *

_Everything was a murky, black nothingness._

_Feeling like she was strangely underwater, Buffy tried to move her head to get a better look at her surroundings, but the movement seemed detached; her sight reasserted itself, but she felt as if her body remained in the same place._

Did I fall asleep? _she__ felt herself think, the words echoing muddily as if heard through thick-paned glass.  Where am I?  I can't remember how…_

Her thoughts scattered, dissipating along with the murkiness around her, and suddenly she was standing among the dark, musty bookcases of the Magic Box.  The store was empty, its silence pierced only by the repetitive ringing of the door chime—as if the door were swinging back and forth on its hinges—and with intense purpose, she looked to the familiar round table in the middle of the room and spotted a single, leather-bound book lying closed on the dark wood finish.  With heavy steps, she walked towards it, and looked down upon the book, burning the image of the pale-colored etchings on its surface into her brain.  Hesitantly, she reached for it, but with a jolt, the book and all its surroundings disappeared, and she was once again surrounded by murky black.

_But faintly, she could hear a voice, as if from a great distance._

"…can't die!  Buffy, breathe, you…not…this!  …the Slayer!"

She recognized that voice.  Her mind frantically tried to put a name to the voice, a face, anything! but her thoughts felt distant and muddied, and the voice began to fade away.  Panic welling in her, she hastened towards it, stretching out with the edges of her mind to grab a hold.

_And suddenly, scattered images were exploding in her mind with frantic bursts.  Spike__.  Lying on a tile floor, the edge of a metal cadaver looming overhead.  A dim, smoky room; the taste of alcohol on her lips.  Spike.__  And falling, but being caught by a strong pair of arms.  Darkness, and then bright sunshine.  __Spike._

A kiss.  Hot, impassioned, full of desperation and quiet yearning.

_Her chest constricting painfully, she burst away from her murky prison and into the light._

*           *           *

Dizzy, his head ringing, Spike was deathly close to giving up, when with a deep, hacking cough, Buffy came to.  Choking violently, her throat ravaged raw by the grit and sand, she struggled to sit up, but placing a gentle hand on her shoulders, Spike urged her to lie still.

"Slowly, Slayer.  Slow, deep breaths."

Somehow, amidst her ragged gasping, the blonde managed a smile.  "And what would _you know about breathing?"_

Spike favored her with his most charming grin, relief in his dark, blue eyes.  "What, don't ya think I watch _ER?"_

Buffy laughed hoarsely, grabbing his arm and shakily helping herself to her feet.  She turned to him, a soft look, far deeper than mere gratitude on her face.  "Spike, I…"

He patted her arm affectionately, cutting off her 'thank you' with a modest smile.  "Thought I'd lost you for a moment there, sunshine.  Guess the _ER lessons paid off, huh?"_

She nodded thankfully, feeling the flush again in her cheeks.  "Right, Spike.  Thank God for primetime television."

He smiled, but the humor was gone as he stepped closer to her, a seductive air to his movements.  "Just try not to make a habit of it.  I'd like to keep you around for a bit longer, baby..."  Smiling devilishly, he brushed past her, enjoying the mixture of confusion and desire in her face.

Gulping heavily against the fever overtaking her, Buffy turned to follow, still somewhat shaken by her near-death ordeal and the vampire's libidinous nature.  "Um…Do you know…ah…What was that thing?"

The vampire shrugged lazily, retrieving his discarded duster from the ground and shrugging back into it.  "Crazy, red cyclone demon?  Never seen one of 'em 'till now, pet, and right glad I haven't.  Quite a nasty bugger…" he remarked lightly, patting the pockets of his duster for his cigarettes.  Remembering there were none, he swore softly, somewhat annoyed.

Buffy looked slightly unnerved that Spike was just as lost as she.  "Great.  Think it's demonically linked or just some really nasty weather front we're getting?"

"Unless Sunnyhell's gone Nevada desert on us, I'd say the former, Slayer."

The petite Slayer groaned, then smiled with false cheer.  "Great!  Ya dust the vampires, and just when you think all's peachy, the dust decides to fight back!  This is _so like my life."_

All humor aside, Spike fixed her with a stern glance.  "They'll be time to bitch 'n moan later, Slayer.  I'd say you need to pay a visit to your Watcher about the new dust devil in town."

He turned to leave, halting only momentarily with a perplexed expression at the sight of the two vampires' bodies.  Despite he and Buffy's being completely unscathed from the red whirlwind, other than Buffy's seared throat, the two unfortunate vampires had been quite thoroughly reduced to ashes.  He shrugged, dismissing it for the time being, and casually sidestepped the two dust piles.

Buffy nodded sagely, sidestepping the dusted vamps with less than an afterthought.  "With any luck, Giles will know something about what's going on.  Otherwise, its research city here we come…"  She started after Spike, but the vampire suddenly stopped, cocking his head as if suddenly remembering something.

"Almost forgot, Slayer.  We have unfinished business."

With a deftness of speed that surprised even her, he spun around, and grabbing her by the waist with one arm, pulled her to him and kissed her with mind-numbing passion.  Had it not been for his arm around her, she would have melted to the ground with the impact.

Pulling away, he fixed her with another dashing grin.  "Can't bloody well leave these sorts of things undone, baby, now can we?"  And with his regular self-assured saunter, he left her speechlessly staring after his retreating back, wondering how he managed to be so damned charming in the end.

*           *           *

The Magic Box looked dark from the street.  Willow, Xander, and Anya had already left for home and sleep, leaving Giles to finish up his research and wait with Dawn until her sister showed, and said Watcher was currently intent at stacking and re-shelving the books littered across the shop's one lone table when the Slayer—punk rock vampire in tow—blew into the store.  

A no-nonsense expression on her face, Buffy turned to her Watcher with business-like curtness, ignoring the slight bewilderment and surprise in the Englishman's stance.  "Giles!  Spike and I were just attacked in the cemetery by some sort of freak, red whirlwind.  I think we've got more than Glory to worry about…"

Eyebrows knitting in confusion, Giles paused from his work.  "Ah, you and…Spike?  What were you—"

Buffy brushed his question aside with a hasty gesture, moving to the table of books with purpose.  "I'll explain in a minute.  Right now, I want to see what I can find on this cyclone thing."

Spike, who had been waiting hesitantly in the doorway, came further into the room, eyebrows tight.  "It may 'ave been a poltergeist of some sort.  A vengeance demon in dust form."

Finally noticing the vampire, Giles sputtered wordlessly, his eyes flicking angrily between Buffy and Spike, utterly lost.  "B-Buffy?!  What's going on here?  What is…_he doing here?  Didn't we discuss—"_

Sighing irritably, Buffy shot the Englishman an impatient glance.  "I know, I know!  I know I said some things…"  She bit her lip sheepishly, sighing exhaustedly.  "…Just, let's not worry about that right now.  Right now—"

Giles fixed her with a stern gaze.  "Buffy, I am your Watcher and am therefore entitled to know exactly what's going on.  So I insist you explain to me."

Sensing Buffy's discomfort, Spike stepped forward with his usual brazen attitude.  "Alright, Watcher, here's the dirt: your Slayer here was on her way out of the graveyard when she ran into me, and out 'o nowhere we were both attacked by a couple 'o vamps.  Just as we're about to finish them off, all goes to hell in a red whirlwind, and Buffy here is prematurely knocked out of the game.  And that brings us here."

Giles seemed to digest this momentarily, taken aback.  Suddenly he turned to Buffy sharply, eyes widening.  "Wait, are you telling me this storm thing knocked Buffy out?  Buffy, are you alright—"

"I'm fine, Giles!" insisted Buffy hastily, her voice coming out hoarse.  She cleared her throat sheepishly, ignoring the pain it caused her raw throat.  "Really, I'm fine!  I just…passed out a little from the dust."  Suddenly her face was stern, fixing Giles with a meaningful glance.  "But if Spike hadn't been there, I might not have been okay."

Still skeptical, the old Englishman pursed his lips tightly, staring searchingly at the stubborn young woman.  It was clear he didn't like it, especially after past experiences with the unpredictable Spike, but Buffy wasn't going to back down.  And she was acting strangely benign towards Spike—a vampire who only days ago she was preaching vehemently about on terms of disgust and revulsion.  She had been so adamant the week before about driving him out of her life and had tried to avoid him at all costs, but here she was, defending him against Giles' good sense.

A strange thought began to worm its way into the back of Giles' mind, and it made a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Shaking away the feeling and sensing the uselessness in his arguments for the time being, the old Watcher sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair in a sign of defeat.  "Well…Buffy, if you believe—"

"I do," insisted Buffy firmly.  "This thing could be really big, Giles, and we may need all the help we can get."

Spike, who had been silent for sometime, suddenly intervened hastily.  "Now wait just a bloody second, Slayer, I believe I have a say in this, too, y'know!"

Buffy turned to him icily, hands on hips.  "Spike, if you're going to get all self-righteous on me, let me remind you I just saved your pathetic ass right now—"

He gave her a withering look, rolling his eyes.  "Buffy…"

"—and if you're going to repay me by being a royal jerk once again, than you can just get lost like I probably should have made you do in the first place instead of—"

Surprising her in mid-sentence by plopping casually down in a chair, Spike grinned up at her with obvious amusement.  "What I _meant to say, pet, was when do we get started?"_

She stared at him momentarily, embarrassed by her outburst.  A minute ago she had been so insulted that after what had happened in the cemetery, Spike would just blow her off and be his usual pain-in-the-ass self, that she was momentarily thrown-off guard by his easy compliance in the matter.  And then she felt the flush rising to her cheeks again and she nodded hastily in understanding, quickly turning away so as not to let him see her blush.

"Ah, um…right!  I'll go check on Dawn and then we can get started," she mumbled quickly, hurrying towards the back room with forced seriousness.  She secretly hoped Giles hadn't noticed her slip, especially hoped he had missed the fact that she was blushing.

But as she walked away, feeling Spike's eyes on her back, her blush only increased, as well as the giddy feeling that began as a tingle in her spine and slowly spread throughout her body.  Quickening her pace, she pushed aside the improper thoughts that had begun to form in her mind, and concentrated on confronting her little sister.  Guiltily, she realized she hadn't seen her in nearly two days after abandoning her with Giles.  She hoped the fourteen-year-old would be forgiving.

Watching her go with a mixture of concern and misgivings, Giles took his handkerchief from his pocket and began to polish his spectacles uneasily.  "Yes.  Right.  Research."

Spike watched him intensely, a strange depth to his gaze.  "She's got her head on her shoulders, that Buffy.  Even after the deal with her mum."  His gaze had shifted to the empty doorway, mind racing.  He didn't know quite what had made him want to help, but he felt that it somehow involved more than just his feelings for the Slayer.  Maybe it was just like he'd said; maybe he really was changing.  Or maybe he had just panicked somewhat when it occurred to him how vulnerable Buffy really was, that she could die at any moment from something trivial and natural, not just because she was outmaneuvered by some clever demon.  That she was human, susceptible to a million unexpected accidents and diseases that could strike at anytime, without warning.  Just like with Joyce.

He didn't want her to end up like Joyce.  He realized, somewhat amazingly, that he would do anything to prevent that.

Changed.  He had, hadn't he?  Drusilla's words came back to him with simple clarity, having seemed so meaningless at the time they had been spoken:

"Poor Spike…So lost.  Even I can't help you."

She was right.  He would never be the demon he once was.  He was tainted.

But he was strangely glad of it.

*           *           *

Several hours and books later, they still had nothing.

Spike and Giles were still diligently at it, fighting the urge to sleep with amazing restraint, but Dawn and Buffy had drifted off in their seats.  Neither man could bring himself to wake them.  They had been through so much in the last two days, that they were near the point of exhaustion, and it had taken amazing strength to last as long as they had.

Wearily, Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and sat back in his chair.  "I believe we are getting nowhere tonight."

"Morning," corrected Spike, not looking up from the pamphlets and books scattered before him.  "We've been at it all soddin' night and still nada on that bloody cyclone-spectre!"  He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face.  "Bloody hell…I need a drink," he grumbled, getting up and pacing in frustration.

Giles nodded with fatigue.  "I agree that the lack of information on this…ah, wind devil, or whatever it is you call it, is extremely frustrating."  Looking at his watch with a slightly horrified expression, he stood up, stretching stiffly.  "Perhaps it would be best if we ended for the night and reconvened tomorrow…er, later today."

"Right, then.  Good show."  The vampire seemed to be considering something, an uncomfortable expression on his face.  All night, he had been continually bothered by something, but had been hesitant to bring it up.  His eyes darted to Buffy.  The young woman was sleeping fitfully, head on her arms on the hardwood table, blonde hair fanned out behind her.  Occasionally she would stir, fine eyebrows furrowed in discomfort, and his chest tightened with a strange yearning to comfort her.  Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he finally turned and pierced the old Watcher with a troubled yet intent look.

"I want to know what happened to Buffy's mum."

Looking up in surprise, Giles was momentarily silent, looking searchingly at the blonde vampire, caught completely off-guard. Spike looked truly curious, shifting uncomfortably under the Watcher's scrutiny.  He knew it was a strange request, especially for him, and he wasn't quite sure what had driven him to ask it.  Silently, he waited patiently for the Englishman to speak.

Finally, Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably.  Shakily removing his glasses and cleaning them with intense diligence, he fixed Spike with a suspicious glance.  "Buffy…told you?  Of Joyce's death?"

The vampire looked away, feeling the frustration beginning to well behind his perfectly erected wall of disinterest.  "Who did it?"  A deadly anger was slowly rising with his voice.  "Was it that…Glory bird?"  He could picture the self-involved bitch in his mind, smiling coldly with that look of holier-than-thou disdain on her flawless face, even as he pounded its smooth image into the pavement, feeling the crush of her skull under his boots like broken glass.  Could feel the cool weight of the shotgun in his hands, and imagine the welcoming shock the weapon would send through him as he riddled her fragile body with bullet after bullet, exacting his revenge…

Giles' voice was thick with emotion.  "No…She wasn't murdered."  He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes against the memory of the lifeless body sprawled on the living room floor of the Summers' home.  "She had an aneurysm."

Spike looked taken aback, his vengeful fantasies fading away like distant shots on the still air of a frozen winter morning.  "An…aneurysm?"

Giles nodded slowly, replacing his glasses carefully on his nose.  "It was sudden.  She was dead before she even discovered her."

The peroxide-blonde was now pacing in distress, an unfamiliar feeling of hopelessness worming its way into his thoughts.  "She?" he questioned absentmindedly, no longer fully listening.

Giles looked sharply at his sleeping Slayer, clearly pained.  "Buffy.  Buffy's the one who…who found her."

Spike halted sharply, following the Watcher's gaze to the petite blonde at the table.  _Poor bird!  No wonder she cracked like that!  He felt a pang of pity, as well as the pent-up longing he had been burying for the last couple of hours, and the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her was so strong, he thought he would crack in front of the bloody Englishman._

"Christ, Watcher…!" was all he managed to say, running a hand through his hair.  "And she…!"  He shook his head dazedly, unable to find words.

"It never ceases to amaze me how strong Buffy can be," remarked Giles softly, looking at the sleeping Slayer with a new tinge of pride.

Spike shared his sense of pride.  And wonder.  She was incredibly strong—physically, mentally, and in every other way possible.  That's what had attracted him to her in the first place.  With Drusilla, it had been the mysterious air of sensuality that surrounded her.  He had been able to look beyond the madness, the sometimes weak dependency, which in the end had held her to him, and seen the dark and sensual creature beyond those mad eyes.  There had been times when she was strong, but he always felt her strength and ability never quite matched his own, and that's what had left him so open to the lure of the brassy Slayer.  The Slayer was fearless and unrelenting, always able to hold her own in a battle against him, and had even bested him on numerous occasions.  When he fought her, she held back nothing.

But he knew she was not indomitable.  He knew her weaknesses, her fragility, and it strangely excited him.  She had something he could never quite embrace: she had humanity.  She drew him like the sunlight tempts the night, forever unattainable.

"Don't think I'll ever meet another Slayer like her."  _Don't think I'll ever meet another woman like her…_

Snapping out of his longing reverie, he turned questioningly to Giles.  "Speakin' of which, what're we gonna' do about the two bits?"

The Watcher seemed to snap out of his own thoughts as well, looking around absentmindedly.  "Ah…yes.  I suppose I'll have to take them home.  It's getting quite late."

Easily hefting the petite Slayer into his arms, Spike pursed his lips at the Watcher's slip.  "That would be 'early' again, old git.  Looks like you're in need of a break."  Inclining his head in Dawn's direction, he started for the door, Buffy cradled comfortably in his arms.

"You grab the little bit and let's say we call it a night?"

Flustered, Giles hurriedly scooped up the teenager with some difficulty, hurrying after the vampire.  "Spike!  Wait a moment!  I can take Buffy and Dawn—"

Spike was already out the door, though, and walking towards his Desoto parked on the street.  Already, the sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of sunrise licking at the edge of the horizon.  He turned to Giles with a casual grin, and swung open the passenger door to gently lay Buffy in the seat.

"It's no problem, Watcher," he remarked casually, ignoring Giles' reluctance to let the vampire drive the two girls home.  "It's not that out of the way."

Making a sour face, Giles reluctantly lay Dawn in the back seat of the old black car.  "You vampires are insufferable," he grumbled stiffly, sighing with resigned indignation.

Spike shot him his fangiest grin, jumping into the driver's seat of the old Desoto.  "We try, Watcher."  Turning the ignition, he spun out into the street, leaving the elder Englishman staring worriedly after the disappearing vehicle from the sidewalk.

"I don't know why I listen to Buffy sometimes," he muttered to himself, turning and going back into the empty shop.  "God help us…"

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. Chapter 3

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter Three**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn_ based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story.  The song "The Weakness In Me" is by Joan Armatrading (off of the _10 Things I Hate About You_ soundtrack.)

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: Sometimes, the characters may fall into an OOC trap, but please bear with me—this was my first attempt at _Buffy fanfiction, after all.  I did as much research of former seasons, characters, backgrounds, etc. as I could, but I'm sure there will be mistakes, such as the mistakes in the description of Spike's crypt.  I hope though, that you can ignore such mistakes and enjoy the story on its own.  ^_^_

Side Notes: Thanks goes to kidd (kid133) for pointing out the song credit mix-up that was formerly in this chapter.  I apologize for any confusion that may have been caused by that; as some of you may have noticed, this has been rectified.  Thanks again, kidd!

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter Three 

            

Feeling guilty, worried 

_Waking from tormented sleep_

_This old love has me bound_

But the new love cuts deep 

"So…let me get this straight," drawled Xander, leaning forward with curiosity.  "You and…Spike…got attacked by some crazy, wind-devil _thing in the cemetery?"  Clearly puzzled, he leaned back again._

"I don't get it.  Why were you in the cemetery with _Spike_?"

Buffy rolled her eyes in exasperation and gave her best friend a firm glare.  As if in need of a change of scenery, the available members of the Scooby Gang had been gathered in the Summers' living room for a semi-emergency meeting, rather than get together at the Magic Box.  Giles had insisted, stating that he was trying to cut down on the clutter of books in his store, but Buffy had assumed it was just a cover to keep her and Dawn at home.  Especially Dawn.

She chanced a glance across the room at her younger sister.  The heart-broken fourteen-year-old had remained as silent as ever all day, perched comfortably on the back of the couch and staring with dull eyes out the window at the hazy gray sky.  It had been raining the entire day, as if sympathizing with the young girl's mourning; a heavy, gray mist that spattered the windows with beads of perspiration, completely masking the sun from view.

Frowning inwardly at her sister's silence, Buffy turned back to Xander with a stern glance.  "Xander, this is serious."

The messy-haired young man looked at her with mock insult.  "I am being serious.  I mean, it's Spike, for crying out loud!  I thought you told me before that that's just…creepy?"

The petite blonde looked just a bit exasperated.  She really didn't need her friends being difficult about this right now.  They had a new enemy that they knew nothing about and meanwhile Glory was still waiting in the wings to snatch up the Key.  A Key that was currently Buffy's silently suffering kid sister, who needed her big sister's shoulder to cry on right now, not some crazy hellgod gunning for her.

Buffy sighed heavily—such was the life of the Slayer.  But sometimes she just wished she could have a normal life.  Not to mention normal love interests.

"Yeah, well that 'creepy' vamp saved my life last night, so let's just forget about that part of it for now and get to the important part of my story."  She gritted her teeth tightly to keep from commenting further; she just wasn't in the mood right now.  Her thoughts briefly flashed to early that morning.__

"Buffy?"  She was shaken gently from a light sleep, momentarily unaware of her surroundings.  Then Spike shook her again lightly, her eyes springing open in recognition at the voice.

_"Spike?" she muttered in surprise, still drunk with fatigue.  He shushed her gently, indicating the door of her house with his head._

_"Careful.  Don't wanna' wake your sis, now."_

_She sighed, exhausted, wishing she could just drift off to sleep again.  "Where are we?" she murmured, unconsciously snuggling further against his chest._

_"Your house, luv.__  You fell asleep."_

_She 'umm-hmm'ed absent-mindedly, feeling herself falling back into sleep.  "…sleep…good…"_

_Spike shifted awkwardly, nonetheless enjoying her snuggling up against him, however.  "Right, luv…"  There was the briefest pause.  "Um, Buffy…You've got to invite me in, first."_

_"Hmm?"___

_"Remember?  You uninvited me."_

_She was silent for a moment and he was afraid she had fallen asleep.  But after a moment, she nodded drowsily in remembrance.  "Oh, yeah…"_

_She fell silent again and he shook her gently.  "Uh, pet, I'm in a bit of a hurry with the sun about to come up 'n all…"_

_Still she was silent.  Finally, eyes still closed as if in sleep, she smiled lightly.  "Spike, you can come in…" she murmured drowsily.  Then, burying her face against his chest, she fell back to sleep._

She had re-invited him.  Just after getting Willow to put an de-invite spell on the house.  Hopefully, it wouldn't be a problem.  But she hoped to death that Willow wouldn't find out; she just might flip. 

_Why do you come here,_

_When you know I've got troubles enough_

_Why do you call me,_

_When you know I can't answer the phone_

_'Make me lie—_

_I don't want to!_

Make someone else some kind of love-goin' fool 

 "Right.  We need to figure out what this wind thing is and what it wants," Willow was speaking up helpfully at the moment, seated comfortably on the couch next to Tara.

Xander was relentless.  "Yeah, but—"

"Sorry, Xand.  No 'butts' in this house," teased Buffy firmly, getting up from her seat.  "We need to stick to priorities right now, not matters of hurt male pride."

"Hey, Spike _hardly_ hurts my male pride!" spoke up Xander in defense, "This is a matter of my over-protective male dominance complex and simply trying to keep my ladies safe."

Tara smiled thinly from the couch.  "Isn't that the same as male pride?"

Buffy nodded smugly.  "Right.  And now I am going to the kitchen to get us some munchies," she pronounced, closing the matter and heading for the kitchen.  "I'll be right back."

Still not ready to back down, Xander turned to shout after her, "Yeah, well, you better explain when you get back…yeah."  Gaining no answer from the blonde, he frowned irritably.  Willow patted his hand comfortingly.

Buffy smiled lightly to herself, shaking her head gently at Xander's overprotectiveness.  She was the Slayer, she kicked vampire and evil butt everyday and saved the world all the time, but her friend never ceased to feel the need to protect her from the evils of the male population time and time again.  Not that she didn't appreciate his concern.  In fact, often they were quite well placed, and she would have done good a number of times to listen.  But Buffy was far too stubborn for that. 

_You make me stay,_

_When I should not_

_Are you so strong,_

Or is all the weakness in me? 

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that it took her a moment to notice the figure seated rather casually on the edge of her kitchen counter.

"Spike!" she squeaked, taken aback.

The vampire grinned dashingly.  "Sleep well, luv?"

She nodded absently, observing him curiously.  Something was different.  Unable to keep her eyes from wandering appreciatively over his lithe form, she realized that it was his clothing that had taken her aback.  He had gone back to the more casual look he had begun to show shortly before Drusilla's untimely return.  Dressed in a long-sleeve gray knit top and fatigue-green khakis, he came off far less the dark, dangerous vampire and more like the "rebellious guy next door".  Feeling the feverish feeling in her limbs, she decided she liked the look.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" she spoke up, tearing her eyes away from her visual devouring to look him in the eyes.

Aware of her gaze, Spike grinned at her knowingly, blue eyes sparkling.  "It was raining out so I decided to check up on you.  You were out like a lamp as soon as I got you in this morning so I didn't exactly get to see how you were."

"I'm fine.  Thanks," she answered shortly, going stiffly to the fridge and retrieving the juice pitcher and a block of cheese.  Setting the items on the opposite counter, she rummaged through the cupboards for the cutting board and some crackers and grabbed a knife from the knife block.

Spike nodded, eyes trailing appreciatively over her petite form which was dressed in a simple long-sleeve brown shirt with a teasing neckline and tight-fitting tan slacks.  "That's good, luv.  Hope Dawn's well.  Little Bit hasn't talked to me since…well, since last week, let's just say."

Her back to him, Buffy began to cut the block into slices, placing them on crackers on a plate.  "She's taking Mom's death terribly.  I think she thinks…"  She paused, the words catching heavily in her throat.

Spike sensed her hesitance.  "You think she believes you won't love her anymore, am I right?"

She turned to look at him sharply, surprised he knew exactly what she had been trying to say.  She nodded, turning back to her cutting.  "Right.  I'm just worried she's going to do something stupid like cutting herself again…but worse."  She pressed down roughly with the knife, her frustration evident in her stance.

Sliding down off the counter, Spike came over to stand behind her.  "It's not hard, Buffy.  Just let her know you still love her."

She tensed, feeling him so close.  "It's not that easy, Spike," she muttered sharply, her cutting becoming more furious.  "She's worried I don't care about her anymore because she's just some key.  She thinks she's not real and that's why I don't love her."  She spun to look at him suddenly, and he could see she was fighting tears.  "But she is real, Spike.  She is!"

He patted her shoulder soothingly, features soft.  "Of course she is, luv.  But she's got to learn that for herself."

Buffy stared at him silently, fighting the urge to let him take her in his arms, to cry in his embrace.  She wanted him to hold her so bad.  Everything was such a mess—if only he could just hold her.  But she knew she couldn't let herself indulge in such fantasies.  The consequences of such an affair would most likely be far worse than what she was dealing with now.

Spinning back around so to quell her longing, she began to cut again furiously.  "Are you still going to help with this cyclone thing or was last night just a one-time deal?" she spoke up stiffly, changing the subject.

She felt him shift slightly, leaning back against the countertop lazily.  "Ah, about helping, pet…"

Buffy huffed in annoyance.  "Yeah.  Just like I thought, Spike."

He shook his head accusingly, cutting her off before she could begin ragging on him further.  "Now hold on a sec, you didn't let me finish again."  He hopped back up on the counter, leaning his arms comfortably on his knees.  "What I was tryin' to say, was I don't think the rest of the Scoobies should know about this."

Pausing in surprise, the petite Slayer turned to look at him curiously.  "You're going to help?  Wait, why shouldn't the others know?"

Spike laughed shortly, but it held no humor.  "Have you seen what they think of me?  I think they'd sooner take a stake to my heart than let me help 'em!"  He shook his head emphatically.  "Nope, I work with you secretly, Slayer.  I'd prefer to live out my eternal life a bit longer, if I can."

Buffy studied him curiously, knife paused mid-cut.  "You really want to help, don't you?" she asked softly, feeling a newfound amazement at the change in him.

The change in him. _I've changed, too, Slayer.  He really had changed, hadn't he?  The clothes, the mellowed-out attitude, and now the offer to help.  She could almost completely dismiss all the times he had killed and tried to kill her and her friends._

_Must have dismissed that stuff if you want him so much,_ hissed her thoughts angrily.  She ignored them, searching the vampire's dark blue eyes, staring back at her with open honesty.

He blinked at her, surprised.  "'Course I want to help!  That cyclone bugger almost bloody did you in!  What, did you honestly think I'd just sit idly by and let yourself get killed, pet?"  He smiled at her with an amazing amount of tenderness.  "That was supposed to be my job, and bloody hell, no one's gonna' get it now…"

Buffy was frozen with shock momentarily, feeling her desire for him begin to well within her.  Turning away hastily, she shakily resumed her cutting, not really seeing what she was doing.  Almost immediately, the knife slipped, leaving a clean slice across the palm of her hand.  She yelped in surprise, tearing her hand away as the blood began to well in fat, crimson beads along the cut.

"Shit…" she muttered, grabbing for some paper towel to stop the bleeding.

Immediately Spike captured her wrist gently, hopping off the counter to come up behind her.  "No, here, luv, I've got it."  Her heart leapt nervously in her throat as he turned her about, bringing her heavily bleeding hand to his lips with a sensual tenderness that sent a tingle through her spine.

She had expected him to vamp out on her and start feeding, but instead he gently licked away the blood with tentative slowness, his cool tongue easing the sting of the cut and sending a wave of desire through her unlike anything she had felt before.  She found she was holding her breath, and she gulped heavily, watching him lapping up the blood in her hand with a sensuality that surprised her.

Sensing her nervousness, he glanced up at her silently, eyes dark with pleasure.  He could feel her heart beating crazily, her blood beginning to pulse through his veins as if she were physically a part of him.  Despite the demon's initial urge to emerge and feed, he fought it down with hardly a thought, so intent on merely her warmth and scent that his humanly desires all but drowned the bloodlust out with a lust of its own.  It was intoxicating, his desire nearly overcoming him with the aphrodisiac power her blood held, and he growled deep in his chest with controlled ecstasy.  He had tasted a Slayer's blood before, had experienced the powerful effect it had on his body and senses, but never in such a personal way.  And never Buffy's.  If the Chinese Slayer's blood had been intoxicating, Buffy's was mind-numbing.  He had never wanted her so badly as he did right now, and he could sense she was similarly excited by the intensity of her gaze on him.

He could feel the flow of blood to the cut beginning to fade, and Buffy was beginning to look slightly dizzy from loss of blood.  Still gazing at her deeply, he moved his lips gently up her wrist, kissing the soft skin with unconcealed longing.  Closing her eyes with pleasure, the Slayer gasped with a sharp intake of breath.  Encouraged by her reaction, he brought his lips higher, pulling her against him by the wrist, pinning her against the counter with his body as he continued to kiss her wrist with increasing fervency.

"Buffy?" came Willow's voice suddenly, startling them both out of their guilty indulgence.  Footsteps could be heard approaching slowly, and they both looked sharply at one another, panic in their eyes.

"Hide!" hissed Buffy urgently, pushing him towards the far counter.  Needing no motivation, Spike easily leapt across the counter, ducking once he was behind it for cover.

"Buffy?" quipped Willow again, coming into the kitchen.  She looked at Buffy, slightly concerned.  "Everything okay in here?  Do you need help?"

Leaning up against the counter with forced casualness, Buffy smiled shakily, trying to calm the fever raging within her.  "Uh, no!  No, I'm almost done."

The redhead still looked somewhat unconvinced.  "You sure?"

"Yeah," insisted Buffy cheerfully, nodding fervently.  She moved away from the counter, ushering Willow towards the door with careless flippancy.  "You just go tell the others I'll be out with munchies in a few minutes, 'kay?"

"Alright…"  Throwing her best friend an odd look, Willow went back out into the living room obediently, wondering what was up with Buffy.  _It must be the stress,_ she thought pityingly.  She would have to ask her about it later.

Craning her head to make sure she had gone, Buffy turned back to the vampire, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter once again.  "That…was close," she said, breathing a long sigh of relief.

Spike nodded in agreement, stealing a slice of cheese from the counter and popping it lazily in his mouth.  "Tonight," he said, looking serious, "I assume you'll be patrolling again, luv?"

Glancing out the window at the mist-like rain, Buffy made a face.  "Unfortunately…"

Advancing on her with predatory grace, he fixed her with intense blue eyes.  "Right then.  I'll meet up with you at that marble pillar from last night and we'll patrol together.  See if we can get anything on this 'new evil'."

She gulped, her desire flaring anew.  "Uh…patrol…right."

He smiled at her devilishly, advancing even further.  "Didn't think I'd actually do the book thing again, pet, did you?  Besides, I don't think your Watcher'd like that much.  Protective old git."  Pressing her back against the counter, he put his lips close to her ear.  "Not that I blame him."

She shivered, unconsciously pressing herself against him.  Angel and Riley had always been rather tall, pleasantly built men, but not Spike.  Leaner, average height…whereas Angel and Riley had seemed casually at ease in their height and power, the blonde vampire was firmly built—pure coiled muscle.  

"No…can't blame him…"  Her blood was roaring in her ears, feeling him so cool and enticing, pressing against her with so much longing.  Licking her lips, she looked up and met his eyes, dark with desire.  She couldn't stand it anymore.

"Spike…"

He needed no further encouragement, grabbing her tightly in his arms and kissing her violently.  Immediately the familiar thrill shot through them both, increasing their passion.  She moaned softly against his mouth, her hands gliding across his shoulder blades, and he growled low in his throat in response, pressing her harder against the counter.  Both drank hungrily of each other, tasting each other's lust and passion on their lips and tongue—cold on hot and hot on cold—as they shed their uncertainties for one brief moment.

Finally knowing she had to stop before things went out of control, Buffy pushed him back gently, pulling them both away from the counter.  "You have to go," she gasped against his lips, unable to tear her mouth away despite her words.

Reluctantly beginning to pull himself away, Spike nodded.  "Right, luv.  Go…" he murmured.  

Breathing heavily, both paused momentarily in thought.  Then, leaning into him, Buffy gave him one last firm kiss and pulled away reluctantly.  "I'll meet you at the marble pillar."  She turned away hastily before her desire could overcome her again.  "Now, you have to go.  Before anyone sees you."

Gathering his wits, he nodded tightly, retrieving his leather duster from the kitchen table.  "I'll be there.  Just make sure you're there."  With that, he slipped silently out into the dark, rainy day.

Closing her eyes reflectively, Buffy put a steadying hand out on the countertop.  "Oh, I'll be there.  I'll definitely be there…" she whispered softly, licking his taste from her lips. 

_Why do you come here,_

_And pretend to be just passin' by?_

_But I mean to see you…_

_And I mean to hold you…tightly. _

Xander's voice hailed her from the living room.  "Hey, Buff, are we gonna' get any snacks here?"  She could hear Willow reprimand him sharply.

Smiling to herself in amusement, Buffy grabbed the snack stuff and headed out to the living room.  "Alright, Mr. Antsy-Pants, I'm coming!"

She didn't even notice the smear of blood she left behind on the counter.

*           *           *

Several hours later, full of cheese and crackers washed down with juice and having decided they'd gotten all the dirt they were going to get out of Buffy for now, the three Slayarettes made their good-byes and parted.  Giving the petite Slayer a parting, frustrated glance, Xander hopped down the front-stoop, a polite yet silently concerned Willow and Tara following close behind with quick hugs and parting reminders.  Buffy closed the door softly, releasing a long, weary sigh in lee of the empty silence that remained.

"Two hours until patrol," she muttered absent-mindedly to herself, confirming her assumption with a glance at the hall clock.  Glancing pensively out the living room window at the hazy shroud of rain suspended heavily on the lawn, she tried to collect her scattered thoughts.  _Wind-devil, Glory, Dawn—the Key, Spike, Mom…She swung her arms gently, loosening tired muscles as she walked towards the kitchen.  __Glory, wind-devil, Dawn, Mom, Spike, patrol…patrol, patrol…rain, rain, rain.  Sighing again with further weariness, she stopped in the doorway, staring gently at her most important thought for the moment._

Dawn.

Fiery red wind spirits and narcissistic hellgods aside, it was long past the time for the big, heartfelt sister-to-sister talk.  That big moment between two sisters, when all else is put aside—age, privilege, tastes, and disagreements—and true bonding is reached.  Buffy's stomach did a sour twist.  This talk should have been about men.  It should have been about being a woman, having your first period, or losing your virginity.

It shouldn't have been about losing your mom.

"Dawn…" she began softly, crossing her arms uncomfortably and coming further into the room.

The teenager looked up expressionlessly from her seat at the counter, finger dancing lightly along the edge of her glass and making a low mournful tone against the rim.  Her gaze seemed hollow, her eyes seemingly staring somewhere beyond Buffy's shoulder.

The blonde's heart ached painfully.  This wasn't right, just wasn't fair.  It had taken so much love, so much care, and so much devotion, to finally make her feel as if she belonged here after the ordeal of her birthday—as Dawn, with her big sister, Buffy, and her loving mother, Joyce.  Not as a Key, but as a person.  And now one of her links had been taken away.  How could merely Buffy and her half-obligated devotion keep her feeling loved?

She pursed her lips, carefully choosing her words.  "You haven't said anything…since last week, Dawn," she remarked softly, coming and taking a careful seat across from her at the counter.

The teenager's eyes hadn't moved from the far point on the wall.  She continued to run her finger rhythmically over the rim of the glass in its dull, mournful tune, ignoring her sister's pained expression.

Her throat dry, Buffy continued softly, voice strained with worry.  "Dawn…you can't just keep—"

"Is there going to be a funeral?"  The girl's voice was cold, empty, still not looking at her sister.  Buffy was silent momentarily, studying a hairline crack in the countertop.

"We're working on it, Dawn," she said softly, looking up again and trying to get the other to meet her gaze.  "It's…hard.  There's…flowers, and guests, and hymns, and the casket still hasn't been decided…"  Her voice broke off hoarsely, looking down at the countertop again to collect herself.  "There are so many arrangements to make.  We're…I'm going to need your help.  We all need your help, Dawn."

Buffy looked at her younger sister silently, wishing the other would look back.  The hollowness in her eyes reflected a hollowness beginning to spread in her own heart.  She had never voiced the fear to Giles or anyone but herself, but she strongly feared that her mother's death could destroy something vital in Dawn.  If Dawn wasn't real and lost the desire to retain her human form, would that cause her to revert back to her original form, whatever that was?  If such a thing happened, there was no way they could reverse the change.

"Let's have it next week," remarked Dawn finally in a dispassionate tone.  Her finger pressed a tad bit harder against the rim of the glass, but otherwise, she stared ahead in continued emptiness.  "There should be lots of flowers.  Mom would have liked lots of flowers."

Buffy's eyes watered threateningly.  "Dawn…"

"And she'd like a plain casket.  She wouldn't want us to spend too much on her like that."  There was a faint glimmer in the hollow, blue eyes.  "And we should serve hot chocolate afterwards, with tiny marshmallows…just the way she liked it."  Her voice was slowly cracking, wavering precariously on each word.  "And Spike…Spike should come.  She liked…she really did like Spike.  She would have wanted him to come."

Her numb shock dissolving under the weight of so many memories, Dawn's eyes began welling with tears; spilling down her cheeks and off her nose in an angry torrent of emotion.  "If she was still here they could watch _Passions_ together, and drink hot cocoa, just like nothing had happened, like he'd never said that stuff to you and she'd never…she'd never…"  The dam broken, she lapsed into heart-wrenching sobs, tearing at her face with the weight of all that bottled up pain, her screams tugging at Buffy's very soul with their complete and animalistic agony.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, Buffy joined her sister's weeping, smoothing the younger girl's hair with vicious, desperation, letting all the pain and hurt wash over her anew.  She rocked the girl tightly, joining in her pain, but trying to soothe her as well.

Dawn gripped Buffy's shoulders tightly, as if afraid she would lose her as well.  "It hurts, Buffy, it hurts!" she moaned painfully, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the pain.  "Why did she go?  Why did they have to take her from us?  It's not fair!"

Buffy crooned soothingly into her hair, still rocking her softly.  The pain was so biting and so deep.  How could she ever soothe such a pain?  It would never go away, it would haunt them forever.  It could dull, it could lessen, but it would remain forever like some torn away piece in their souls, holding forever the memory and the pain in their hearts.

"I know.  I know," she murmured hoarsely, unable to find any words.  And so she just continued to rock her sister, silently, soothing her trembling and anguished cries with soft murmurs and caressing hands.  The only way she knew how. 

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	5. Chapter 4

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter Four**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story._

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: I apologize for the extreme shortness of this chapter.  When I originally started writing "Beyond", I wasn't exactly writing chapter-by-chapter; that is, I wasn't designating a certain amount of pages per chapter.  I was more writing it in parts, which consisted of several chapters that amounted to a certain amount of pages.  So this chapter was originally meant as a lead-in chapter to Part 2.

I did, however, make sure to post Chapter Five right along with this chapter, so hopefully that will make up somewhat for what Chapter Four lacks in length.

Keep reading, keep reviewing—I love hearing all of your opinions (even if I don't seem to listen sometimes.)  ^_^

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter Four 

Three days.  Three nights.

Three days filled with dreary funeral preparations; the flowers, the coffin, the funeral home, the pallbearers.  The piles of consolation cards, the flowers from the co-workers, baked goods and hot dishes from friends and neighbors, all flat and apart from the heaviness in Buffy's heart.  That empty despair, knowing none of it would ease the reality of the situation, but would only serve to make it all the more real.

With seemingly cold dispassion, she bore it all, signing the forms, the checks, the bills of such previously foreign expenses, and something she had never wished to realize before shone with heavy clarity in her mind's eyes.  Immediately she was back there—that filthy, damp alleyway, staring with growing horror and dread at the vampire crouched complacently at her feet on the wet stones—staring up at her with complete candor, blank face barely containing the vicious passion in those dark and depthless blue eyes as he proceeded to tear every truth and fear from its ill-guarded bonds and bring it, shamelessly, before her eyes.  She had gone cold, asphyxiated by the haunting gaze and words, and been horrified at how easily he had torn her most hidden fears from within parts of her soul she had not yet fully explored.

And now she thought back on it with a maturity beyond her years, its clarity dulled by the heaviness of everything weighing down on her soul, and she realized that Spike had been right.  Been so right, it put her in a sense of perverted awe.  

_"Death is your art," he'd said, staring at her evenly.  __"You make it with your hands, day after day.  That final gasp, that look of peace—part of you is desperate to know, "What's it like?"  "Where does it lead you?'" _

She had known this, all along, whether she had acknowledged it or not, and yet, she would never accept it.  Never _truly accept it.  Death would always be on her heels, waiting in the wings, affecting her and those around her.  But somehow, she could not accept that.  It was her job to fight it, no matter how inevitable it was in the end, and accepting it would be to admit defeat.  How could she continue to fight her hardest, try her best to save innocent lives, if she refused to feel the remorse, the impact of her failure or inability as a savior?  Spike had died over a century ago.  He had already experienced death, had been the cause of it for some hundred-and-twenty odd years, and he had had the time to dwell on all the 'why's' and unanswered meanings to it all, despite his inability to regret or feel remorse._

And that's where they were different—where both could know the same truth and treat it as antithetical as their own natures.  He was a demon in the body of a man who had died long ago.  He could feign love, pretend pain, spout philosophy, but he would always be soulless.

She told herself this, over and over, but it could not explain that all-too-human passionate gaze, nor why he had felt compelled to save her life so many times over.  And it did not ease her discontent.

While her days were filled with the hectic, dismal preparations of her mother's funeral—staring out the gray windows and at her sister falling deeper and deeper into depressed silence—the nights were filled with fruitless and frustrating patrols and research sessions down at the Magic Box.  There were no more mysterious attacks by red whirlwinds, no word in the books, and with her mother's death and funeral preparations weighing heavily on her mind, Buffy was beginning to doubt herself.  It appeared there was no such thing, all sources had been exhausted, and yet, she clearly remembered the stifling heat of the sand-laden winds, suffocating against the heat and grit filling her lungs, and the unearthly animal cry that told of urgent purpose.  It had seemed so conscious and searching, a living force.  There had to be more to it than just one simple attack—someone out to get her (when were they not?) or simply a new threat to the residents of the Hellmouth.  But they were coming up empty-handed.  The cemetery's were quiet, except for their regular dead and undead occupants, and the rest of the Scoobies were beginning to tire of the search.  Glory was still hanging on all of their minds, and the safety of the Key.  It was time to get back to their real problem at hand.

And then there was the other problem on her mind, that tangible desire eating at her from the inside out.  It made the late-night patrols so unbearable, tense and laced with burning sexual tension.  So many times she had stopped herself, so many times she'd held herself back, and it had only increased the both of theirs' jumpiness and flared at their tempers.  The fights between her and Spike had risen beyond any fighting they had ever done when they were truly enemies—bitter and lashing with the strength of misguided passions that could not be released in anything but hateful words—and they had left each of them worn and more frustrated than ever by the end of each night.  And most often, they were merely words, but once they had escalated into vicious blows on Buffy's part.  But what only resulted was the physical contact that she had been so fighting to avoid, and hastily, feeling the burning desire ignite, she had torn herself away and kept silent for the rest of the night.  And there had been no more physical attacks for the remainder of their scheduled patrolling.

Despite all their discomforts, they continued to meet every night in the same graveyard, at the same elaborate marble grave-marker with its cruelly leering gargoyle and serene fat cherub perched atop it in paradoxical vigil.  Continued to fight—each other almost as much as their intended quarry—and continued to curse the passion between them that was their fate.

And it felt as if the breath of something enormous, encompassing them all, was being held.  Something was about to happen, something truly transforming, and they were too oblivious with their frustrations to even sense its coming.

*           *           *           *           *

ON TO CHAPTER FIVE…


	6. Chapter 5

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter Five**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story. The song "War" is by The Cardigans._

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: Um, for my own sake, I must say it in advance—this chapter is very fluffy, and a little sappy.  I couldn't change it, though; I just couldn't.  I'm sure most of you will find fault in Buffy & Spike's behavior, and I won't blame you, but that's how I saw them acting at the time I wrote this.  Throughout "Beyond", Buffy and Spike go through phase after phase of love-hate situations, of passion and loathing—but that is the way I felt like portraying them when I first took up writing this piece.  This story is meant to portray the fickleness of Buffy's emotions after the cataclysmic death of her mother, and part of that fickleness is her self-battle between her feelings of desire for Spike and her sense of duty towards her calling (as well as other elements that exist to keep these two apart.)

Anyway, I wanted to defend myself a bit ahead of time, before you all sent me chiding reviews over this chapter's developments.

Just enjoy this chapter as a Buffy/Spike treat.  ^_^

Another Note: For more vampire works by me, check out my original short story, "Lesson in the Dark".  I would love some reviews on this story, which has been overlooked on FF.net for nearly a year.  Here's the URL:

http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1095531

Pleeeeeaaaase, check it out!

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter Five 

Checking her reflection in the short mirror, Buffy put the last finishing touches on her hair, observing the effect.  Pouting critically at her reflection but appearing fairly satisfied nonetheless, she finally turned away from the mirror, gathering her jacket off the bed and hurrying casually downstairs.

Tonight was her night off.  Xander and Anya, and then Willow and Tara were switching off for the night's patrol and Giles had offered to come over and keep an eye on Dawn while Buffy took a much needed break at the Bronze for the night.  She had been somewhat hesitant at first to give up her duties, even for one night, but her friends had been adamant.  Normally she would have jumped at the thankful reprieve, but she had been pushing herself so much after her mother's death, she didn't want to stop.  Constantly working, worrying about the tangible stuff that she could take care of, took her mind off the pain.  And she wasn't sure if she was ready to rest.

Although she admitted she needed it.  She could feel the exhaustion beginning to cut in, see the hollowness settling beneath her eyes.  Often she would find herself drifting off in the midst of invitations and papers, awakening with a jolt from troubled dreams, and also her slaying was beginning to suffer.  She was noticeably a bit slower, somewhat lethargic, and she'd nearly been finished several times.  She was like a well-oiled machine gone rusty and it was beginning to show in her work.

So she'd listened to the advice, had thrown in the towel for once, and here she was, all ready for a relaxed night at the Bronze.  She would hang out with Willow and Tara a bit until they went on patrol, then she'd get to hang out with Xander and Anya a bit.  _Perhaps even Ben will be there, she thought dully, but the thought didn't seem to excite her the way it had before.  Suddenly Ben seemed as plain and dispassionate as Riley had become, the spark short-lived and quickly burnt out._

Despite her efforts to ignore it, there was only one man on her mind, one man she was secretly hoping she'd run into.  She knew that her thoughts were fruitless, that running into him would only cause her frustration to deepen, but she couldn't stop them.  She wanted to see him across the dimly lit room, looking at her again with that seductive predatory gaze of his, the passion burning underneath the shadowed eyes.  Wanted to see him out of the line of her vision like she always use to, stalking slowly along the edge of the crowd, hunting her.  Wanted to feel the tingling presence on the back of her neck.  Even if she could do nothing about it, even if she could merely watch and feel, just as he, she wanted to feel that again.  

She realized, with a pang, that it had been weeks since he'd last done that, since she'd told him to disappear and after so much insistence, he had.  Of course, he had come back after her mother's death, but things hadn't been the same.  She longed for something to go back to being the same, for everything was changing, and changing much too fast.

"Dawn!" she called, coming down the steps and turning into the living room.  The younger girl appeared from the direction of the kitchen, watching her sister with a patient, dispassionate gaze.  Buffy's chest tightened uncomfortably at the emptiness still there.

"Be good for Giles, okay," she instructed gently, her usual firmness lost in her concern.  Immediately she felt her earlier excitement waning and she had half a mind to stay and try once again to sit down and comfort the young teenager, but Giles appeared from the doorway behind Dawn, giving her an assuring glance.

Dawn nodded numbly.  "Yeah.  Sure."

Buffy pursed her lips worriedly, stealing another glance at Giles.  "I won't be long.  Just page me if you need anything, and I'll come right over, okay?"

"We'll be fine, Buffy," assured Giles, speaking up for Dawn.  He came further into the room, ushering her gently towards the door.  "Go and have yourself a good time, now.  Relax for the night.  Dawn and I will be fine."  He put a friendly hand on her shoulder, steering her gently towards the door as he spoke.

Still hesitant, Buffy peered at Dawn with concern.  "Are you sure you'll be okay, Dawn?"

There was the briefest pause, then Dawn nodded stiffly.  "Go have a good time, Buffy," she spoke, expressionless, her voice empty.

Buffy would have paused further, but with an exasperated sigh, Giles opened the door and succeeded in herding her out.

"Have a good _time, Buffy, and __please don't worry about us."_

Giving him a thin, watery smile, she turned and headed out into the night with one last backward glance.

*           *           *

"Hey, party girl!" crowed Willow, smiling cheerily.  She came over and took a seat on one of the stuffed chairs next to the blonde.

The Bronze was fairly packed, it being No-Cover Friday night, and the band was blasting over on the small stage.  Sitting in a comfortable looking chair set just off the bar, Buffy was somewhat apart from the action, however.

Buffy smiled thinly at her best friend.  "Hey, Wills."

The redhead cocked her head at her with mock disapproval, a mischievous glint in her dark green eyes.  "Maybe I should revise that 'party girl' part…"

Forcing a cheerier grin, Buffy shook her head emphatically.  "No, no, I'm having a blast!  This is great, Willow."  She bobbed her head a bit to the music, giving the redhead a "See?  I told you" look.

Willow smiled, but looked unconvinced.  "Too early, huh?"

The blonde nodded gently, giving a small guilty sort of sigh.  "Yeah.  Just a bit."

The redhead squeezed her shoulders affectionately.  "It's okay.  We didn't really expect you to just get up and start groovin' just yet.  Just maybe…consider groovin'."

"Sure, Wills.  Sounds like a good First Step program."  She shifted a bit, trying to get a look at the stage.  "So, who's the band?" she asked blandly, trying to be conversational.  Silently she could feel this just wasn't going to work out.  Already, visions of coffins and paperwork were floating through her head.  And a certain blonde vampire.

But that was a whole different matter.

Cocking a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, Willow glanced towards the stage, then back at her friend.  "Um, Buff, it's The Cardigans?  You know?  You really like them?"

Buffy smiled sheepishly.  "Oh, right.  I guess I can't really hear much from over here…" she remarked lamely.  _Definitely not working out.  Her mind was completely elsewhere.  Was Dawn okay?  Did she get all the invitations out?  Had she remembered to leave that message at that hotel in Madrid for her dad?  She shook herself mentally, trying to clear her mind._

And immediately, she felt it.  That pleasant, exciting tingle on the back of her neck.  She gulped heavily, forcing herself not to turn around.

"Buffy?"

She jumped slightly, fixing the redhead with a forced smile.  "Um, yeah?"

Willow's eyebrows furrowed slightly.  "You okay, Buffy?"

Buffy nodded hastily, gulping again as the tingle became stronger, slowly working it's way down her backbone.  "Yeah, yeah, I'm…great!  I just…don't really feel like dancing just yet, I guess.  Y'know?  I think I'm just gonna' sit here awhile, scope everything out."  She looked at the redhead apologetically, hoping she would be convinced.

Misinterpreting her awkwardness, Willow gave her a gentle smile.  "You sure?  'Cuz, if you want, I could dance with you awhile?"

"I'm sure.  You just go dance with Tara.  I'll be fine…" remarked Buffy with slightly overdone cheerfulness.  "Sitting here.  Scopin', remember?"  Her pulse was racing madly, and it was all she could do not to turn around and find him in the crowd.  She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, devouring her.  His gaze was so intense, far more intense than it had been before when she used to feel him watching her dancing with her friends or Riley, and it had a newer, sorrowful tone to it.  She could feel the frustration in it, and it tore at her heart.

Willow was still watching her, pity and compassion in her eyes, misinterpreting her discomfort to be over her recent tragedy.  Patting her shoulder lightly, she got up from her seat, deciding to give Buffy some room to think.  "Right.  Just shout if you change your mind, okay, Buff?"

Buffy nodded, watching Willow disappear into the crowd of writhing bodies with a pained gaze.  Willow had it so easy.  An ace in school, smart, funny, sweet, good friends and a faithful girlfriend.  No 'false' sister, no dead mother, and especially no vampiric love interests.  Buffy shook her head furiously.  She shouldn't be getting jealous of her friends.  Everyone had their problems, and hoping to be someone else didn't solve them.  She should just be glad she had such friends to help her get through.

The tingle on her neck had lessened gradually, until it was a bare whisper on her skin.  She sighed softly, looking down at her hands resting neatly on her knees, realizing her whole body had been tense.  _He must have left, she thought, a bit sadly but with a sigh of relief.  After all, it was better this way.  She had been kidding herself, thinking she would be able to handle just feeling him watch her.  It would be best if she could just make him disappear altogether.  _

_Disappear…Her chest clenched tightly.  She was so confused.  First she wanted him to go away, then she wanted him near her, now she was saying she wanted him to disappear again.  It was never going to end._

_Oh, it will end alright, she reminded herself shortly.  __Just like Angel.  Slowly, slowly, forever and ever, but it will end.  Painfully._

If she could just stop anything else from happening between them, it wouldn't be quite so hard.  Her face burned, a strange ache swelling in her loins as she remembered the fierce way he had first kissed her in his crypt.  So soft, his lips asking if she'd have them, and she'd taken them willingly, allowing it to grow deeper.  It had just been a short jolt, a brief moment, but each had felt the other's longing.  And then in the graveyard…the way his fingers brushed her hair back from her face, the intense burn of his eyes.  The moment had been broken.  But he had kissed her anyway afterwards.  She gulped heavily, remembering the fury of that kiss.

And worse yet was that afternoon, three days ago in her kitchen.  That had been beyond anything those two kisses had ignited in her.  Her skin had been afire, she had never wanted someone or something so bad in her life as she had then.  She looked down at her hand, although the minor cut had long-since healed and was no longer visible.  Why had his licking her wound aroused her so completely?  Even when she had been with Angel, the thought of him drinking blood had unnerved her. Drinking blood had just been a part of who he was that she had had to deal with. She had let him drink from her once, and because of her love for him, the experience had been intimate, had lit a strange passion within her, but it had also been painful.  Painful because the demon in him had tried to take control, had wanted to hurt her.  Angelus had hated her that much.  But why not with Spike?  He had been so gentle, so tender, and demon was all he was.  There was no soul to hold him back.  There was no William to overpower Spike, as there had been an Angel to counter Angelus' hate and hunger.

Why had the feel of his tongue gently lapping the blood from her palm excited her so much?

She was suddenly jolted out of her heated daydreaming as someone took a seat across from her on one of the other stuffed chairs scattered around the little club.

"Hi," greeted Ben, smiling shyly.

Buffy felt a nervous chill go through her.  She blinked, surprised by the reaction, forcing a cheerful smile so as to cover up for the slip.  But still, she felt it.  Something didn't feel right.

She looked at him, smiling, but inwardly suspicious.  "Oh!  Hi!  Ben!"

The medical intern chuckled shortly, still appearing shy and nervous.  "Right.  You remembered," he joked lightly, smiling at her warmly.

But the strange chill was still there.  Buffy felt herself go rigid, her smile frozen on her face.  "Of course I remembered.  So, what brings you over here?"

Ben's smile deepened.  "You…"

*           *           *

Spike raised his arm slightly, signaling the bartender.

"What'll it be?"

"Another beer.  Killian's."

The bartender disappeared for a moment, coming back with the chilled bottle.  Handing him a bill and marveling at the genius of "Dollar Drink" nights, Spike turned away from the bar, weaving his way back through the crowd of people dancing and making their own way to the bar.  Eyebrows furrowed in frustration and thought, he wandered idly along the edge of the dancing crowd, taking a reflective swig from his beer as he eyed the unfamiliar faces around him.

_Stupid.__  So bloody stupid…he cursed himself mentally, taking another swig from the cold bottle.  He shouldn't have come.  He knew it.  But he couldn't help himself.  He had wanted to see her again like that, the way he use to.  Wanted to watch her from afar, the way he knew he was fixed to do from now on, knowing he could never have her, but needing to glimpse that one untouchable ray of sunshine in his life as if afraid to lose it.  _

And she _was like the sunshine, radiant even when she was obviously so sad.  She had been wearing a slim black dress with a crocheted black over-shirt, blonde hair pulled up in the back to hang in loose ringlets against her neck, and she had looked ravishing.  It had been all he could but go over there and pull her to him.  It seemed so long since he had actually touched her, though it was most likely several days ago.  But those days had seemed forever with all the fighting, the bickering, and not feeling her touch again, burning with her heat and musky, vanilla scent.  So many times he had wanted to break the tense atmosphere between them, but had agonizingly held himself back.  He loved her, he truly did, but he couldn't go on like this.  Knowing she'd always push him away, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how bad she wanted him back._

And it was all Angel's fault, of course.  She'd been so in love with him—(_stupid git!)—that giving him up had nearly destroyed her.  She would never allow herself to be with another vampire now.  For once in his unlife, he resented what he was._

Looking out over the crowd again with a gruff, irritated sigh, he spotted two of her Scooby friends drifting unwittingly towards him through the crowd.  It was Red, and that other witch.  What was her name?  It didn't matter though.  He watched them, drifting further back into the crowd so as not to be seen, but neither seemed to take notice of him.  They were deeply in conversation, Willow's eyebrows furrowed in concern as she spoke animatedly.

"…hope this funeral doesn't wear her down.  I'm so worried about her."

The blonde witch looked at her understandingly.  "I know.  But I think we just have to give her some time.  And a little space.  She's doing the best she can."

"I know, Tara, I just wish there was something I could do to help.  She never comes to me anymore—"

The two drifted further away in the crowd, leaving Spike to digest their words.  The funeral.  He had completely forgotten that there would be a funeral.  The poor Slayer must be so overwhelmed with preparations, not to mention her slaying duties.  He immediately felt a guilty pang.  The tenseness between them; the bitterness.  She had just been under a lot of pressure.  He should have been more understanding, instead of constantly fighting her back.  

Suddenly he wanted to find the petite blonde.  He didn't care about this unseen barrier she had put up between them anymore.  He just needed to see her, to talk to her.  He needed to comfort the Slayer.  _His Slayer._

"My Slayer," he murmured to himself aloud, enjoying the feel of the words on his tongue.  In his mind, he traced a tender finger down her cheekbone, feeling the warm, soft flesh beneath his touch, saw her green eyes gazing up at him with unbridled desire.  _My Slayer…_

He quickened his pace, weaving his way back through the crowd towards the bar and towards the Slayer.  And saw her chair empty.  Mind whirling in a slight panic, he glanced quickly around the small, crowded club for the petite little blonde in the black dress.

She was standing away off, backing towards the stage amidst the many bodies writhing to the music around her, a tight smile on her face as she spoke to a figure standing over her, urging her further into the crowd.  By her stance and the tightness of her features, she was obviously not quite so willing to dance as she appeared.  She was waving her hands lightly, kindly demurring the figure's invitation.  But the man seemed not to understand her gentle refusal, laughing lightly and taking her arms gently and pulling her into a slow dance step.  As Spike watched with growing animosity, the young man turned his way and he was able to see his face.

He growled, low in his throat.  "It's that same wanker from before," he growled in a deadly tone, placing his empty bottle on the bar and heading towards the couple with quick, purposeful strides.

*           *           *

Buffy was having a hard time keeping a friendly smile on her face.

"No, really, Ben I don't really feel much like dancing right now…"  She began to pull his arms off of her meaningfully, but Ben didn't seem to get the hint.

"Buffy, you're so modest.  You're a great dancer," remarked Ben, that shy friendly smile still on his face.  It was beginning to unnerve her, how every time she talked to him, he was exactly the same, like they were constantly repeating the same conversation over and over again.

She bit her lip, still uneasy, but feeling no harm in one little dance.  After all, she had been looking for something to get her mind off of the funeral and her slaying duties anyway.  She was supposed to be taking a break, having a good time.

But there was something unsettling about Ben now.

"One dance," she proclaimed firmly, pushing away her discomfort for the time being.  It was just one dance.  And then she'd just excuse herself.  Her night was not going well enough to make her stay at the Bronze any longer.

Ben smiled at her triumphantly, pulling her a little closer as they began to dance.  She resisted the urge to pull away, not really in the mood to object anymore.  She wondered briefly why she was allowing herself to be cowed so easily but shook the thought away, concentrating on the low swell of the music and the sway of bodies around her.  And soon she was no longer in Ben's arms, but in strong, familiarly cool ones.  She let her thoughts drift away, allowed herself to dream that it was Spike's arms around her and not the awkward, eerie medical assistant's.

She almost missed the surge of telltale electricity up her spine.  Immediately her eyes shot open, and she was looking over Ben's shoulder directly into those familiar, dark eyes.  Spike tapped Ben on the shoulder, stiffly, and she could see the anger boiling in him, though he wore his face in a coolly calm mask.

"Mind if I cut in, mate?" he purred casually, and before the young man could answer, he had slipped her from Ben's arms and slid his arms around her waist with a natural sensuous charm.  Shooting the other man a devilish grin, he slid Buffy's hand in his and moved with her into the crowd.

Buffy was staring up at him in a mixture of gratitude and desire, her pulse racing madly at the way he gently held her against him, swaying gently in time to the music.  "Thank you…" she breathed, unable to come up with further words.  Here he was, dancing with her, holding her, just as she had been imagining.

He smiled at her brashly, pulling her just a bit closer.  Her heat was just as he'd remembered it, the feel of her skin against him still as electrifying.  "You're welcome," he murmured, his voice rumbling low in his chest.  He felt her tremble slightly, then her green eyes met his again, staring up at him with so much longing he thought he would drown in her gaze.  "You looked like you needed some help there, pet."

She nodded, lowering her gaze with some regret.  "I just wasn't in the mood to argue, I guess."

He nodded, leaning his head closer to hers as they gently swayed to the music.  The band was playing a slower, almost satirically mournful tune; the lyrics, long and breathy.  It was one of Buffy's favorite songs by The Cardigans.  She listened to the words with half an ear, a heady euphoria coming over her.

Oh, come crush me no-ow, don't leave 

_No one has won, this war, this time…_

His fingers, resting lightly on her hip, the other hand gently clasping her own.  The way his touch sent hungry tremors throughout her body, an aching feeling settling in her loins once again as they swayed silently to the music.

No, don't sleep toni-ight, avert…and ready for fight! 

_Don't leave me u-up, alarmed, and ready to die!_

_Come on, it's war, come on…_

_Come on, come on, come on…_

_Come on, it's war, come on…_

"Why?" she whispered, her breath lightly brushing his neck at their closeness.  "Why did you come?"

He shifted slightly, his fingers traveling slowly up her hip, then down again as he continued to sway to the music.  "Because.  I can't stand that bloody whelp."  Their was the usual cocky humor to his tone, yet his grip tightened slightly, possessively.

She closed her eyes against the wave of pleasure.  "No.  Why did you come here?"

Spike was silent for a moment, pulling back slightly to peer at her questioningly.  "Why does it matter, luv?  Why were you expecting me to be here?" he countered gently, blue eyes clear and free of banter.

Buffy blinked, startled.  "How did you know I was expecting you?"  A bit defensively.

He smiled again, a soft, predatory gaze.  "I can see it in your eyes, luv."  He pulled her closer again, leaning his head beside hers.  "You know why I came," he continued, his voice low and sensual in her ear.  "The real question is, why did you want me to be here?"

Please, I'm almost do-one, don't retreat 

_I've loaded my gun, with love…with…_

She gulped, beginning to tremble again in his light embrace.  "Spike, don't do this," she murmured, half of her wishing he would pull her closer and the other half hoping for the courage to break away.

Hear, the dust roll over the floor 

_Why must you sleep?_

_Come crush me no-ow, armed…and ready to die!_

"Do what, Buffy?" he murmured in her ear, voice somewhat strained.  His grip tightened again, pulling her closer so that they were pressed chest to chest in the loosely scattered crowd.  She sucked in a hasty breath, looking up at him through glazed eyes.  "Hold you closer?" he hissed, "Torture you?  Torture myself?"

_…Come on, fight me, come on…_

_Come on, it's war, come o-on…_

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting back tears of frustration.  "Yes…" she hissed back, knowing she should push him away, knowing she needed to break his spell, but she couldn't bring herself to move in any way other than the slow, sensual dance they were in.

You look so peaceful when you sleep—(beautiful creep)— 

_It's such an easy way to choose,_

_You lose_

He seemed to deflate slightly, loosening his grip on her a bit.  Suddenly, he pulled her away from his embrace, tilting her chin with his thumb and forefinger to meet his gaze.  There was guilt written all over his face.  "Buffy…I'm sorry."

Buffy gazed at him searchingly, surprised by the apology and the obvious guilt in his features.  "Spike, I just can't—"

He shook away her response, releasing her chin and resuming their slow, rhythmic sway.  "I know, Buffy.  It wasn't meant…It's not what I had intended.  I just couldn't stand seeing you look so bloody damned miserable…"

She seemed to digest his words for a moment, then she shook her head gently, leaning it on his shoulder and surprising him.  "I'm sorry," she murmured meekly, enjoying the feel of the worn leather beneath her cheek.

Spike seemed startled.  "Sorry?  For what, pet?"

"For looking miserable," she replied, equally as meekly.  She could feel the tears welling and she didn't care anymore, gripping his shoulder tighter.

She felt him chuckle gently, his hand sliding from her hip to rub her back comfortingly.  "Don't be silly, luv," he chided gently, holding her tighter.  "It's understandable, you bein' miserable.  Don't…don't be afraid to be miserable, Buffy."  His grip tightened as he turned to gaze at her with lingering sadness.  "Besides…misery always did love company."

Buffy sighed, blinking away the tears bravely.  "It's just…the funeral," she began hesitantly, "There's just so much that has to be done.  And then there's Dawn, and Glory, and patrolling on top of that…"

He shushed her, his hand sliding to her arm and rubbing it gently.  "And I've been a soddin' wanker to you this whole time, huh?" he finished gently.  The guilt and pain was obvious in his voice.

She pulled away suddenly, looking up at him with sorrowful, olive eyes.  "Well…a bit."  She hastened to explain, seeing the guilt in his blue eyes sharpen.  "But I haven't been too easy about it, either, so it's really no one's fault."

Spike smiled ruefully.  "No, don't bother.  I shouldn't have been so bloody quick to think—"  He stopped suddenly, looking away in frustration as if realizing what he'd just said.

Buffy peered at him curiously.  "No, wait.  Think what?"

He put his hand back on her waist, his other taking her hand, and began to sway once again to the music, turning his head away gruffly.  "Nothing, luv.  Just babbling…" he muttered sharply, avoiding her eyes.

She peered at him sternly, trying to get him to meet her gaze.  "Spike, what did you think?" she demanded, a cold feeling in her stomach.  He wasn't telling her something important.  "Spike, tell me."

He sighed gruffly, exasperated.  "Buffy, it's nothing—"

Immediately she grabbed his arms, pulling them both to a stop.  "No, I want to know.  Does this have to do with how tense you've been the last few days?"

Spike glared at her, frustrated.  "How tense _I've been?  I'm not the one who was grinding me into the dirt at every soddin' chance she got for the last three nights!"_

She glared at him, hurt.  She began to pull away angrily, but he grabbed her arm hastily, stopping her.  "No, Buffy, wait!" he pleaded, the anger gone from his eyes.  He sighed, meeting her eyes finally with open honesty.  "I didn't mean it.  I just…"

"Is this about that day…in the kitchen?" she whispered hesitantly, her eyes gentle again.  He stared at her in silence for a moment, the feeling of that day washing over him again as he stared into her olive-green eyes, and immediately he felt the urge to touch her, bringing his fingers to gently trace her cheekbone.  She brought her hand up to grasp his gently, the longing evident between them once again.

"Oh, Buffy…" he said softly, pulling her to him again.  She stepped into him willingly, and he leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.  They studied each other momentarily, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back gently, then again more urgently, until he had pulled her tightly against him, kissing her hungrily, all their pent-up frustrations from the last three nights lending passion to their lips.

The band played on behind them, the people danced on around them, and their world shrunk to that one point of contact as they fought their passionate battle in each other's embrace.

_…Come on, it's war, come on…_

_Come on, come on, come on…_

_Come on, fight me, come o-on…_

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	7. Chapter 6

**Beyond the Darkness**

**Chapter Six**

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story._

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: Thanks goes out to my reviewers (those loyal few) who keep reminding me to update, and therefore, it is.  (lol)  Otherwise, I know this story would never make itself known.

*           *           *           *           *

Chapter Six 

Straightening his slightly disheveled shirt, Xander cast his girlfriend a rakish grin, looping his arm lazily over her shoulders.  "Haveth not we slayeth thy evil beasts enough for one night, milady?  What say we hasten toward yonder tavern to feast and dance?"

Anya giggled, pushing him playfully.  "Xander, you make the worst medieval knight, and I should know."  Smiling impishly, she snuggled closer under his arm.  "But yes, let's go check out the Bronze."

Xander smiled triumphantly, raising an arm as if to raise an invisible sword.  "Avast ye, scourges of the night, minions of Satan!  Thy brave knight and his fair maid take their leave of thee, but rest assured two equally deadly shall taketh their place in just time!"

The blonde half-demon rolled her eyes amusingly.  "Now you're sounding like a pirate…"

The two, laughing gently amongst themselves, began to walk; turning down the dark dreary street that marked the bad part of town where the Bronze lay.  The streets were silent, save for the usual nighttime sounds coming from the alleys and shuttered buildings around them.  Both were use to the eerie silence, however, and though they may not be as talented or have superhuman strength such as the Slayer, each was fairly capable of taking care of his or herself in their own way.

But as they turned the corner, the dim florescent lights of the Bronze just in view, an eerie stillness passed over them, causing them to pause in worried consternation.

Anya looked around curiously, wondering about the complete absence of nighttime sound.  She turned to Xander, worried.  "Xander…" she began, peering down the deserted street.

The brown-haired young man silenced her quickly with a raised palm, heavy eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully.  "Do you hear that?"  Both cocked their heads patiently, straining to hear some faint sound.

Anya looked puzzled.  "I don't hear—"

"Shh!  There it is!" hissed Xander urgently, holding up a hand for silence.  And the sound came again, louder this time.  A mournful, unearthly lowing.

Both shivered, a sudden fierce breeze whipping at their clothes.  And then it was gone—the wind, the noise, and the strange stillness.  The night sounds returned, and the air lost its heaviness; as if something had been holding its breath and had just now released it.

Blinking confusedly, Anya searched the street offhandedly, no longer afraid.  "What the hell was that?"

Xander shrugged, still looking unnerved.  "I dunno'.  It was…"  He shivered, making a disgusted face.  "_…eeaugh!  It gave me the wiggins."_

The blonde nodded enthusiastically, resuming their walk.  "Definitely.  Very wiggy."

Still uneasy, the messy-haired young man took one last backward glance down the deserted street and wrapped his arm back around Anya's shoulders.  "Remind me to tell Wills about it.  And remind me to emphasize the 'majorly creepy' factor."  He was getting his wallet out as he spoke, the two of them nearing the Bronze now.

Anya nodded absently, staring oddly at his hands fumbling with the rumpled bills.  "Sure, honey.  Might I also remind you it's "No Cover" night?"

The fumbling stopped, a sheepish expression appearing on the young man's face.  "Right.  Thanks, An."  He awkwardly filed the bills back in his wallet, shoving the wallet back into his pocket.

"Sometimes I worry about you," muttered Anya with a hopeless sigh, shaking her head gently.

Xander just stared at her, one eyebrow cocked at the complete irony of her remark and the two of them, arm in arm, entered the already hopping club.

*           *           *

When the immediate burst of passion had abated enough for Buffy to think rationally, she pulled away hastily, tearing herself away from Spike's comforting embrace as if burned.  She looked up at him with wild, olive eyes, tears brimming behind their ardent depths, and immediately she was backing away slowly.

"We can't keep doing this…" she whispered, voice harsh with the pain of her longing.  He watched her go, eyebrows knitted furiously, the muscles in his cheeks and neck twitching with the emotions he was trying to restrain as she disappeared into the crowd with one last, painful glance, regret and apology in her eyes.

She disappeared, but his want of her didn't, and he growled low in his chest in self-loathing and growing despair, turning away in the opposite direction, into the flow of twisting arms and writhing bodies; hating himself and the desires still rolling over him in suffocating, maddening waves. 

_Buffy._  Bloodlust.  Buffy and bloodlust._  The press of warm, blood-filled bodies began to madden him like never before, and all he could see was red, maddening red filling his vision, the beat of hundreds of hearts thundering in his head._

Ignoring the cries of surprise and objection, he pushed gruffly through them; out, out into the cool night away from the noise and lust and warmth.  And in the emptiness that was the night, he let the cold rush of night air calm him, calm the bloodlust that was more out of despair than true hunger, and he cursed his impulsiveness.

Finally calm, feeling a strange sort of rationality befall him, he lit a cigarette, enjoying the familiarity of the act as he let himself fade into the welcome shadows of the alley.  Wait, that's what he would do.  He could wait.

And so he waited.  As did the night.

It was as if something vast were holding its breath.

*           *           *

So caught up in her confusion and despair was she, Buffy nearly rushed right past the redheaded Wiccan.

"Buffy!" cried Willow; half in surprise, half-worried at the sight of the blonde's anguished face.

Buffy turned hastily, startled, immediately wiping the pain and confusion from her features and swallowing the un-spilled tears as she did so.  "Will!  Uh, I didn't see you!  I guess I was a little caught-up in myself."

The redhead brushed aside the obvious excuse, gently pulling the blonde aside from the writhing crowd.  "Buffy, what's wrong?"  At her shoulder, Tara peered at Buffy with equal concern, mirroring the redhead with her expression.

Buffy studied them both for a painful half-second, knowing she wasn't going to be able to brush this one off with a simple "Nothing, I'm fine."  Immediately, she smiled shakily, allowing some of her hurt to show as she wove them a believable lie.

"Oh…it's just…I ran into Ben," she lied quickly, giving them a pained expression for emphasis.  "He was still a little upset over me turning him down last week and I had a hard time turning him down again."

The two witches looked at her understandingly, obviously believing the little white lie.  Willow rubbed the blonde Slayer's arm comfortingly, peering at her in friendly concern.  "You gonna' be okay?"

The Slayer smiled assuredly.  "Yeah.  I'm fine.  I was just a little flustered."

"Men can be so relentless at times," remarked Tara helpfully with that rueful half-smile of hers.

"What's that about us men being relentless?" spoke up a familiar, amused voice, its owner squeezing between the tightly packed crowd to join them.

The three young women smiled sardonically up at Xander as Anya squeezed in beside him.

"Just preaching on the evils of the male sex," commented Willow with a wicked grin.

Xander put on a look of mock insult, eyes wide.  "You Wiccans and your filthy lies!  LIES, ALL LIES!" he raved in a mock crazed voice, shaking an angry finger for emphasis.

Rolling her eyes dramatically but chuckling nonetheless, Buffy put out an arm to quiet him.  "Down, boy.  Be still and know that it's not you we speak of."  _And not Ben, either…_

Anya turned to give Xander a smug sort of expression.  "See?  Now _Buffy_ speaks like a true knight," she remarked pointedly.

Xander seemed to pout in annoyance.  "Yeah, how _do you do that, Buffster?"_

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly, pushing her former worries from her mind and allowing herself to enjoy her friends' playful banter.  Just like old times.  It felt strangely good.

"It's natural.  Just part of the whole warrior and 'savior of good' thing."

Willow gave a little gasp, looking slightly embarrassed.  "Oh, that's right!"  She turned to Xander and Anya.  "It's time for Tara and I to patrol, right?"

Xander nodded.  "Right-o, Willow the Brave.  Evil awaits your long arm of justice."

Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes.  "Xander, you read too many comics."

Gathering their coats, the two witches smiled at the others and turned to leave.  "To the bat cave, Tara!" commented Willow teasingly, just to humor Buffy.  The petite Slayer rolled her eyes again, giving her friends a short wave before they disappeared into the crowd of people around them.

Anya cleared her throat softly, gently pushing at Xander.  Putting up a finger in thought, Xander looked to Buffy apologetically for a moment.  "Just a sec.  Gotta' fill Will in on something."  He disappeared momentarily after the two witches, Buffy simply nodding after him, not really interested.

"How was patrol?" she inquired curiously, turning to the former demon.  She was beginning to feel the longing and lingering pain of the broken embrace eating at the edges of her mind again, and she desperately tried to shove it away.  She could still taste him on her lips, his scent surrounding her.

Anya shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat at the table Willow had pulled Buffy to and signaling one of the silver-clad waitresses.  "It was pretty dead again.  Um, no pun intended.  We dusted a couple of vampires near the mausoleums then made-out for awhile, then came here.  Kiddy-cocktail, please."  She nodded at the waitress, who smiled and hurried off with her order.

Buffy watched her curiously, wondering about this strange blonde demon just as she always did.  Ignoring the slip of personal information on the two's love life, she leaned forward on the little table, resting her arms casually.  "So…no sign of that weird, red whirlwind?" she prodded carefully.

Anya shook her head emphatically, fixing the other blonde with her sweetly innocent, yet blank expression.  "Nope.  Just vampires.  And regular wind."

After some time, the waitress returned with her kiddy-cocktail, and she plucked the single floating cherry from the sparkling drink and popped it casually into her mouth, playing lazily with the little umbrella propped against the glass's rim.  Buffy watched her silently, not bothering to try to instigate further conversation as she mulled over the half-demon's reply.  _Just regular wind…Why all of sudden did she feel so uneasy?_

Xander reappeared from the crowd, spinning a chair around and taking a seat between the two blondes.  "Well, ladies, what do we have in store for tonight?" he asked in a slightly game-show-host_esc voice, grinning brightly._

Anya swallowed her cherry quickly, washing it down with a quick sip of her drink.  "Dancing.  Definitely dancing."  She looked at her drink reflectively, swirling the tiny umbrella in the liquid.  "And more kiddy-cocktails."

Xander nodded, satisfied with her reply, and turned to Buffy inquiringly.  "And you, oh fierce maiden knight?"

Buffy pursed her lips slightly at his jest.  "Just cocktails for me.  And watching."  She certainly wasn't in the mood for dancing anymore.  A sudden thought occurred to her, a broken piece of a memory.

_"I could have danced all night with that one."_

_She dodged his lazy swing, ducking under his arm.  "Is that what you think we're doing?"_

_Then, that self-assured grin.__  Another swing.  "That's all we've ever done."_

Dance.  It was an endless dance.  Forever and ever, whirling around, like a finely choreographed stage fight.  Never losing, never gaining, only spinning and dipping and swaying to an unseen song that burned in each their hearts.  To dance, together, as one.  _That's all we've ever done._

She gasped inwardly, everything just a bit clearer.  All those fights.  All those taunts.  Nothing, completely nothing.  All harmless steps in the endless dance.  They had never meant to kill each other, and they never would.  They were like puppets, and she wondered who could wield the strings of such an intricate act.

Dance.  One big, harmless dance.  _That's all we've ever done.  …All we've ever done…all we've ever…_

Xander was talking to her but his words jumbled together as if from a great distance and she hardly heard him.  She was lost in the dance, the steps going over and over in her mind from the very beginning at that PTA meeting four years ago to their more recent, sensual dance on the dance floor of the Bronze.  Her eyes glazed, she saw each step as it really had been.  And her chest ached painfully, knowing that it would go on like this forever.  Or until something came along to break the dance.

Just like something had for her and Angel's dance.

Xander watched the blonde stare blankly off into space, giving her an odd look.  He turned to Anya questioningly, but the former demon simply shrugged, equally confused.

"She's got a lot on her mind," she stated simply, finishing her drink and looking at her boyfriend pointedly.

"So, how about we go have that dance?"

*           *           *

Dawn found herself oddly drawn to the window.  She didn't know what she was looking for; she just simply turned away from the television which had not held her attention thus far and climbed to the couch, staring out over the dark, silent street with growing curiosity.  She saw nothing; all was still and completely silent.  Silent…

That was it.  She furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully.  There should have been so many nighttime sounds; crickets whirring, dogs barking, cars going by in the distance.  Instead there was only a still pall over everything.

Giles looked up from his books, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a finger as he glanced at the young teenager.  "Dawn?  What is it?"

She started slightly, turning to look at him.  "Nothing."  She turned back to the window for a moment, scanning the darkness.  But nothing else piqued her interest.  It was just eerily calm.  "I was just checking if Buffy was coming home yet," she added shortly, finally turning from the window and sliding down the couch to sit comfortably on it.

The old Watcher cocked a brow gently but Dawn had already turned her attention back to the quiet television set.  He brushed off whatever comment he had been about to make, turning back to his books as well, and the room was silent once again, save the soft murmur of the television and the clock on the wall ticking gently.

And suddenly, the house began to shake fiercely, a great screaming of wind tearing outside at the windows.  Both looked about in horror, the room bathed in crimson light for one brief moment, and then it was gone—the shaking, the light—all of it.

Both sat in silence again for a moment, Giles staring about the seemingly untouched room with openmouthed amazement, his glasses cocked crookedly on his nose.  After a moment, he seemed to gather his wits, straightening his glasses shakily.

"What on earth was that?" he gasped, breathless.  Dawn shook her head, wide-eyed with fear and amazement.  Both stared at each other wordlessly for a few brief seconds, then Dawn hurried for the phone.

"I'll call Buffy," she said hurriedly, dialing the pager number with quick fingers.  Giles nodded numbly, still looking about him in bewildered wonder.  But no more tremors came.

*           *           *

Buffy finished her most recent kiddy-cocktail just as Xander and Anya came back from yet another dance.  Putting aside her empty glass and giving the couple an apologetic grin, Buffy slowly got up from her chair.

"I think I'm going to call it a night, guys," she remarked, yawning a bit for emphasis.

Both looked at her regretfully.  "Aw, so early, Buff?" commented Xander, making a sour face.  "Don't you want me to treat you to a dance first?"

Buffy shook her head gently, giving the brown-haired joker a wan smile.  "I think I'll pass tonight, Xander.  I've got a lot of preparations still waiting for me at home and I should really check up on Dawn."

Anya looked at the concerned expression on her boyfriend's face, then at Buffy with an eager expression.  "Do you want us to walk you home?"

Again, Buffy gave a slight smile, shaking her head.  "Nah, I'll be fine."  Dropping a tip on the table, she glanced up at them one last time.  "I'll see you guys tomorrow, 'kay?"

The two nodded, watching her drift away into the no-longer-so crowded club.  Buffy could feel their eyes on her, watching her with growing concern, and she wished she hadn't caused her friends so much trouble in the last week.  _Sorry guys._

Upon reaching the street, she took a deep, much needed breath of the cool night air, wrapping her arms around herself in the sudden cold.  She had forgotten a coat that night, but the chill was only minor.  Watching a star winking lonely in the sky, she turned around into the alley, deciding to take the back way home.

And immediately, she found herself face to face with the blue-eyed vampire before the warning tingle had even hit her.

He looked at her, tightly, a million emotions flitting across his features and swimming in those blue depths.  And then he offered her his hand, as if they had just been introduced at some crowded, casual party, imploring her to shake it.

She stared at him, then at his hand, in mounting confusion as well as a hundred other emotions broiling through her.  And then Spike smiled brashly, inclining his head slightly to show that he wasn't quite so serious.

"A truce, Slayer?"

Buffy continued to stare at him, hesitance in her stance.  Then, unable to contain an amused smile, she took the proffered hand and shook it warmly.  Immediately, his grin grew wider, and with a quick tug, he pulled her forward so that his arm was hooked in hers and began to escort her home.  She let out a short cry of surprise, then looked up at him with mock annoyance.

"Alright, _William, what's this about?" she asked sternly, pushing back the warm tingle initiated by his touch._

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, not looking at her.  "Can't a bloke simply want to escort a lovely lady home?"

She watched him curiously, marveling at the way the pale light from a nearby street lamp accentuated the striking features of his face.  And she remembered what he'd said some months before about that dance, and suddenly she was stopping them both in the dark alley, stepping in front of him to look at him squarely.

"What's this really about?" she demanded gently.  "Come on Spike, I don't want this to end up like it did in there."

He sighed irritably, turning his head away for a moment in annoyance at her persistence.  When he met her gaze again, his face was completely serious.  "Okay, Slayer.  Fine."  He stared down at her, deeply now, his eyes dark and glittering in the dimly lit shadows.  "I'm apologizing.  Happy now?"

Buffy looked somewhat suspicious, cocking her head inquisitively at the vampire.  It was all he could do not to kiss her firmly pouting lips, so tantalizing in the heavy shadow enshrouding her face.  "You're…apologizing?" she repeated, disbelieving.

Spike rolled his eyes, turning away with a frustrated sigh.  "Oh, come on, Buffy, stop acting like I'm some pathetic sod who's never apologized to anyone before!" he growled, making a pleading gesture despite the annoyance in his tone.

He realized she was giggling silently and he glared at her sharply.  "You're impossible, Slayer!" he growled in exasperation.  She merely laughed louder at his comment, her eyes dancing despite the lack of lighting.  _She's breathtaking,_ he thought, fighting the urge to take her in his arms again.  And he was sorely tempted to.  Instead he heaved another frustrated sigh, giving her a pointed glare until she quieted again.

"I'm sorry," apologized the blonde, still grinning slightly.  He grinned back at that.

"Hey, I thought I was suppose to be doing the apologizing around here, pet?" he remarked.  She gulped, his grin affecting her in more ways than one.

The two continued their walk, turning down the dark alley and back out onto the empty street beyond.

"You don't really need to apologize," continued Buffy in a soft voice, not looking at the vampire.  

He glanced sidelong at her.  "No, I didn't mean to hurt you, luv."

She seemed troubled, her eyes still staring steadfastly ahead.  "I know.  But it was as much my fault as yours."

Both were silent for a moment, once in a while slipping a glance at one another in the dim moonlight.  A muscle twitched in Spike's cheek.

"It doesn't have to be anyone's fault," he said finally, tightly.  She shot a brief questioning glance at him but his blank expression betrayed nothing.  "It doesn't have to keep going on like this, luv, and you know it."  This time he looked at her, meaningfully, the desire filling his dark eyes again.

Buffy stiffened, looking back at him hesitantly.  "Spike, don't—"

"Just listen to me, Slayer," he whispered urgently, stopping both of them and standing in front of her pleadingly.  "This tension…we keep fighting it.  _You keep fighting it, luv.  But it's there and it's not going away.  We know that."  He paused, looking at her searchingly.  "But do we really need to be fighting it?  What are we afraid of?"_

She realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly, her eyes wandering around the desolate street in search of an escape.  _No, this isn't happening.  I can't answer him! her thoughts raved, panicking.  She could feel the passion swelling within her, his touch calling her.  _No!  No!  Mustn't…__

"This is crazy!" she muttered, staring at him wildly, feeling herself backing away.  "Spike, I already told you!  This is wrong—_we're wrong.  This feeling is just—"_

He looked at her steadily, unmoved.  "You keep saying that, Buffy, when you don't even believe it yourself."

That froze her.  She stared at him, her breath coming heavily, unable to contain the lust in her gaze.  He came at her gently this time, taking her arms and looking down into her green eyes with his blue filled with intense longing and a new, calmer reason than he had had earlier that night.

"I love you.  I always have it seems.  And I always will.  Why can't that be enough, Buffy?"  His eyes were pleading with her, demanding an answer.

It seemed that they stood that way for an eternity.  Her breath still not quite recovered, she seemed to steady herself momentarily, then looking back up at him with a clear expression, she licked her lips thoughtfully.  "Spike, once you told me…that all we ever did was dance."  He blinked at her in recognition and she continued.  "And I looked back, on all the times we've fought, and all the times we've bickered, and I realized…that you were right.  It was all just one big dance."  She closed her eyes reflectively, pain flashing across her face.  "Spike, the dance has to end.  It has to end, because if it doesn't, someone will get hurt.  I don't want you to get hurt.  I don't want to _be hurt."_

Anger flashed in the vampire's eyes.  "You think that Angel was a dance."  It wasn't a question, but a statement.  His eyes glittered fiercely, challenging her.

"Spike, this isn't about Angel."  But her face was equally hard, angered that he had brought her former lover into this.

But the vampire wasn't finished.  He smiled scornfully, releasing her coldly.  "It isn't?" he hissed, voice taunting.  He whirled away from her, duster fluttering madly about him as he spun back around to face her.  "It's always been, sweetheart.  'Can't love another vampire because poofy Angel hurt me so.  Forget how much he drives me mad—can't let _that happen again!'"  He was stalking around her restlessly, gesticulating wildly the way he always did when impassioned with something._

Buffy glared at him heatedly, passion and anger swelling as one.  "Spike…" she hissed warningly, but the vampire was almost beyond reason now.

"What do you want, Buffy?!  Like I said, obviously my love just ain't enough—_oh no!_  What do you want?  Another Angel?  Another soul?  That you can soddin' lose and break?  Is that what you want, Buffy?!"

Buffy was shaking now, half from rage but also out of pent-up desire.  Despite the venom in his words and the old wounds he was bringing up, the peroxide-blonde's angry ranting only seemed to increase her longing for him.  "Spike, _shut up."_

The ranting vampire strode hastily up to her, facing her, noses nearly touching.  "_Don't_ tell me to bloody shut up, sod it all!" he hissed, grabbing her arm roughly.  "I bloody _love_ you and you pretend it's nothing!  _What does it fucking take, Buffy?!  I mean, it's as simple as me loving you and you loving—"_

"IT'S NOT!" she shouted suddenly, wresting her arm from his grasp before he could finish.  Her pulse was racing, whirring crazily in her ears as she gasped for breath, shaking with rage and desire.  "It's not…" she murmured again, her eyes welling with tears.

"You're right.  It was about Angel.  And you're _not Angel."  She turned away hastily, wringing her hands in despair.  "But _it's—not—that—easy!_"_

He was watching her now with a pained expression on his face, suddenly calm after his short tirade.  "Why, Buffy?  Why is it?" he pleaded, gentler this time but his voice still stern.  "You're right, I'm not Angel.  And I don't have a soul.  I've got nothin' to lose, luv.  Why is that so hard?"

"You're still a killer!" she shouted suddenly, rounding on him.  Her voice reverberated coldly on the nearby buildings, traveling down the deserted streets.  "Just because there's some chip in your head and you can't kill now, doesn't mean you won't!"

Spike was silent for a moment, running a hand through his hair in frustration.  "We don't even know if—when that might happen, Buffy.  Why do we—" he began, but she cut him off suddenly.

"Maybe…Maybe you do love me.  Like you say," she began, turning away.  She sniffled a bit, and he could see that she was fighting tears.  "But you're a vampire.  And I'm a vampire Slayer.  Once that chip is removed, and you start killing again…I'll have to kill you.  Because it's my job."  She looked at him suddenly, the pain and desire radiating from her.  "And I don't want to kill you," she finished in a soft voice.

He was stunned, staring at her silently, suddenly understanding her.  There was nothing he could say to her, because after all, it was all true.  Once he got the chip removed, he would go on killing, just like before, like his nature called for.  What else could he do?  Continue to drink pigs' blood from a bag like some cripple?  It just wasn't conceivable.  He lowered his head, feeling such hopelessness wash over him that he couldn't speak.

It really was impossible.  He had been a fool.  And he had hurt her, just like that filthy poofter, Angel.

"Fine."  The word was a low whisper, rumbling deep in his chest.  He looked up at her coldly, his expression blank, all emotion gone from his eyes.  It was as it was before he'd gotten that chip in his head, devoid of expression and coldly indifferent.  "Fine, Slayer.  That's the way it'll be.  I've finished this dance…"

With one last cold glance, he turned and walked away with his usual coolly indifferent saunter.  And the tears Buffy had been trying to hold back began to flow freely down her face, watching him go with a terrible emptiness resounding in her chest.  Neither said anything, simply watching and believing the other was effectively torn from their life.  And the night echoed their stillness.

Almost as if it were holding its breath.__

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	8. Chapter 7

Beyond the Darkness

Chapter Seven

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG-13 or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story. _

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: Oooh, the inebidable fight scene chapter!  Finally, our "baddie" makes its appearance!  I really had fun writing this chapter (though the ending was somewhat of a pain.)  Since I could basically already see it all worked out in my head, (I'm crazy like that) it was just a matter of putting it all into words that would make it understandable.  I hope you all will be able to envision this battle to the best of your extents as well!  (It's only a small battle, but "it's still good"…)

Author's Rants: Ignore the crap-tastic formatting for this chapter.  Something is up with FF.net, and it's not cool.  Grrr!

*           *           *           *           *

_Chapter Seven_

She was so engrossed in the shock of that moment, watching him disappear down the dark street—duster fluttering behind him like the cape of some mysterious, dark archangel—that it took her a moment to notice the fiercely vibrating pager clipped in the sleeve of her over-shirt.  It had been going off for some time now, she could tell as she slowly removed it from her sleeve, as if emerging from a trance.  She stared at the number for one brief second, not really seeing it, and then her eyes went wide, recognition kicking in.

"Dawn…!" she muttered aloud to herself, a warning tingle creeping up along her spine.

And it seemed, just as she was pulling her atrophied limbs into action, she was immediately thrown off of her feet by an enormous gust of wind.  The gust threw her nearly twenty straight feet across the deserted street, pinning her angrily against the brick side of a building with such strength, the breath was momentarily knocked out of her.

Head spinning, she painfully rolled her head up on her neck, gasping raggedly for breath, utterly dazed.  

"Wh-hh-aaaa-aa-a…" was all she managed to stutter, incoherent.  Dimly, with what little awareness she had, she realized in horror that it had to be something amazingly strong to have knocked her silly like that.  It was still pinning her back, but the grip was loosening somewhat, as if whatever had tossed her so simply was now playing with her.  She felt herself crumpling brokenly to her knees, vision still blurred, and all her Slayer senses were going wild; demanding that she get up and protect herself.  It was like a broken, florescent sign were flashing 'DANGER, DANGER!!' across her brain, over and over, and she was struggling blindly to gather her wits.

And almost immediately it seemed, she was on her feet and shaking the stars from her vision.  She saw the glowing red specter coming towards her almost before she heard the unearthly lowing of its call, the red-lit winds surrounding it swirling and coalescing as if to some silent heartbeat; but the form within this glowing veil stayed as one.  Not solid, this specter, but unchanging, yes.  And immediately she knew the origin of the eerie lowing.

It called to her pleadingly once again in its unearthly song, this glowing red bull, snorting great plumes of red mist into the air as it raised a heavy hoof, seemingly to dig at the pavement beneath its feet.  And she found herself frozen in awe, and something else, her limbs once again unable to move of her command.  It was calling to her, tugging at something within in her and she could feel the pull, like heavy cables trying to tear her from the bonds of her body.  The pain was unbearable—bursting from within her as a brilliant, white-hot light—and yet, she could do nothing to stop it as it viciously tore at her, could not even cry out in pain.

_Think! _screamed her brain frantically, desperately trying to grab hold of whatever essence this strange, glowing specter was trying to accost from her.  

_Come on, Buffy!  Get a hold of yourself!  _

She felt herself breathing again, tiny gasps at first and then in full breaths.  

_You have to get a hold of yourself!  Dawn needs you—_she strained, ever so slightly, feeling the light slowly being drug back into herself—_your friends need you—_

The bull let out a snorting cry of rage, bucking wildly, dark eyes burning madly like two hellish, smoldering coals as it attempted to regain its hold on her.

_Sunnydale__ needs you, Giles needs you!_

Buffy was struggling wildly now, feeling its hold tighten on her.  It drove her back against the wall with another vicious typhoon, bucking and rearing like some wild rodeo show beast, but she continued to fight its hold with nothing but her stubborn will.  

_…Spike needs you, Buffy…You can't let them all down!  _

She was fading now, the winds pressing against her larynx in a crushing choke-hold.  

_You are the __Chosen__ One!  You are the infamous Vampire Slayer!  You have so much to do…to live for…to fight for…_

And she was losing.  With her last few ounces of strength, she tried to pry the invisible hold from her throat.

"…s-sspike…!"  She could feel herself fading, fading…  "…S-Spike…Spiii-ike…" she gasped again, willing air into her throat, willing herself the strength for just one shout that would catch the vampire's attention.  She forced the image of his face in her mind; those high cheekbones, those mysterious blue eyes, that ever-confident grin.  She grasped for that sweet memory of his touch, the thrill of his kiss.  And she saw him in her mind again, swirling away in an angry whirl of black leather.

He was leaving her.  Her Spike…her unlikely black angel…  She could forget that he was a killer, forget his true demonic nature…if only she could draw just one more breath and none of it would matter ever again!

The red bull was regaining his grip, coal-black eyes blazing as it watched her weakening under its magic summons.  But she couldn't see it, could only see that fluttering black duster in her mind's eye, spinning farther and farther away, and it pulled at something deep within her; and throwing back her head for one brief moment of triumph, she screamed his name with all the feeling his diminishing image raised in her:

"SPIKE!!"

Head lolling, she collapsed, feeling herself fading with that one last use of strength.  And she swore, in her mind, she saw the duster swirl about in alarm, rushing back towards her on winged feet just before she fell into its murky depths.

*           *           *

Spike's thoughts were a raging cacophony of rage, despair, and blind passion as he coldly turned his back on the tiny Slayer and all the emotions she instigated in him.  

Everything was going too fast, crumbling around his head—he felt as if he were drowning.  And the memories and images wouldn't stop exploding like angry starbursts in his head.  _Buffy!  The Slayer!  Such utterly perfect, soft, warm flesh…!  Vanilla…sweet vanilla…silky, blonde hair.  Olive, green eyes…so deep…No!  No!  No!  _

_"…the dance…"  _

_"…have to kill you…don't want to kill you…"_

_Her touch, like sunshine—oh, the burning!  And her voice, so sweet yet like a razor…"Don't want to kill you"…No, no, no!  Can't end like this!  No…_

"Stop!" he growled angrily, holding his head, trying to make the images be still.  "No more!  _No more, sod it all…!"_

But the images neither stopped nor abated their vicious assault.  He could feel the animalistic, demon rage growing within him, and slowly crumbling in the face of his humanity like some fine china doll meeting an ocean torrent.  No, he wouldn't give in.  This was simply just another drawback.  He would make the Slayer come around.  _He would._

He laughed, bitterly, viciously kicking at a stone in the path.  "Oh, give it up, you bloody sod!" he snarled under his breath at himself, running an angry hand through his short hair.  "She's the biggest damned, stubborn bitch there is!"  _And I love her more 'n blood and life itself, sod it all…_

A drink, that's what he needed.  One really, hard, drink.  _And this soddin' chip outta' my head…_he thought hungrily, yearning more than ever for the hunt.  If he could just feel that familiar thrill, his prey's blood singing in his veins, that joy as the life ebbed away and the neck was snapped with so much dispassionate finality.

He stopped himself, looking down at his hands in a new sort of horror.  It was just like she'd said—already he was thirsting for the kill.  He needed to kill, it was his nature, but…  _Buffy._  This new thirst dwarfed any bloodthirsty appetites the demon in him could hold.  And a crazy thought began to form in his mind…it was insane…

_You could, _it thrummed seductively, feeding this new desire in him with hazy images of the petite blonde.  _It's been tried…You could be the one to succeed.  Angel failed, still struggles…You're just as strong.  Maybe stronger.  You could do this…_

"I could…" he murmured thoughtfully, in awe.  The thought terrified him, and yet…

"Spike!"

The loud cry burst into his thoughts like a slap of cold water.  He looked back down the deserted street from which he had come toward the disembodied voice, his limbs automatically falling into a combat mode as he turned, and without thinking he broke into a desperate run.

He stumbled as he reached the street, alarmed at the sight of the monstrous, glowing red bull crouched triumphantly over the tiny, crumpled figure on the pavement.  It snorted wildly, throwing back its horned head with wild abandon, pearl-like threads of light trailing from its wicked horns to Buffy's inert body like the torn innards of some gutted soldier.

"Bloody _fucking hell!" Spike gasped, momentarily numb with amazement.  Immediately, the bull's head jerked around at the sound, piercing him with glowing, coal-black eyes.  It snorted derisively, almost as if dismissing him, then turned back to the unconscious Slayer before it, not bothering to give the surprised vampire another thought._

And then Spike's momentary shock was gone, leaping towards the fallen figure on the street.

"Buffy!" he cried worriedly, ignoring the bull for the time being.  The unearthly creature turned on him once more, this time lowering its horns as if to attack.  The vampire froze warily, falling into a fighter's stance as he circled the strangely glowing beast.  It stared at him coldly, calculatingly and with obvious intelligence, and it seemed as if it didn't look _at him but __through him.  Spike growled warningly, still in his human face, not sure of what the strange beast would do._

Finally, obviously not having found what it seemed to have been searching for, it turned back to the fallen Slayer again, tossing the vampire back several feet with an offhanded gust of wind.

"Hey!" cried out Spike indignantly, jumping to his feet in anger.  "I said 'Hey!', you great big red tosser!"  When the bull gave him no heed, he let out a ferocious, frenzied roar, diving at the beast in full game face.

Instantly he was thrown back against a building at the other end of the street.  Dazed, he struggled to his feet, glaring at the glowing red monstrosity in blind rage.  He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth offhandedly, tasting blood.

"Alright, no more Mr. Nice Vampire!" he snapped shortly, rushing at the whirlwind.  Leaping high, he spun his leg around in a deadly whip-kick to the thing's head.

And struck nothing.  Or at least, he felt nothing.  But in the next instant, he was sprawled ten feet away on the pavement, staring over at the calmly glowing beast and feeling the blood drip slowly down his chin and onto the street.

"Bloody hell," he muttered angrily in disbelief, swiping the blood away from his mouth with an angry hand as he climbed quickly to his feet.  He stared the small ten foot distance at the red apparition, trying to gauge a means of attack with growing panic.

Then he spotted that strange whitish light he had noticed earlier coming from the Slayer.  It suffused her, like the hazy nimbus of some mighty angel, and threadlike strands of it were clinging across the dark street to the red bull's horns.  

_What the bloody hell…? _he thought fiercely, trying to make sense of it.  But already the light seemed to be fading from Buffy's body, glowing brighter as it curled slowly around the bull's great horns like thread on a spool, and he knew he had to act quickly before whatever it was he was taking was all gone.

Waving his arms insanely, he growled challengingly at the glowing apparition, trying to capture its attention.  "Over here, you red son-of-a-bitch!"  There was a moment of frozen silence as the bull turned to pierce the furious vampire with its burning gaze.  Sensing its annoyance, Spike continued, waving it towards him tauntingly.  "That's right, you effulgent load of bull!  Come and get me!  _Toro, you pillock!  Toro!!_"

Almost as an afterthought, he dropped his game face, reverting back to his human features.  Suddenly the creature seemed just a bit more interested, turning a bit towards the wildly gesticulating vampire.  Spike grinned tightly, his eyes flitting to the white-hot light trailing from the ghostly horns, which already had begun to shrink slowly back towards their owner.

"That's right, mate!" he taunted in a crooning, deadly voice, slowly stepping backwards to herd the creature away from Buffy.  "I'm gonna' mess you up right nice for messin' with my Slayer…" he hissed softly, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.

He didn't notice the change at first.  What alerted him foremost was the sudden shift in the animal's stance.  It turned to gaze at him harder, sending out tendrils of power towards him, gently tugging at him.  And then he felt it—the fiery glow.  It began in his chest, licking out with tiny, electric fingers towards his limbs and head.  It was barely a whisper, just a slight tingle of the radiant angelic light that radiated from the Slayer but it drew the beast nonetheless.

Staring down at the pale red-gold glow spider-webbing out from his chest in surprise for one brief moment, Spike looked up at the glowing bull with newly restored determination, a purely malicious grin spreading across his now human face.  The light seemed to shrink in on itself a bit, but he paid it no heed, taunting the creature to come after him.

"Ahh…!  So this is what you're lookin' for, you red bastard?" he asked it coolly, indicating the scarlet haze that now lightly diffused his body.  It drifted towards him hesitantly, throwing its red glow over the street and nearby buildings, and he felt it once again tugging at him, more insistently this time.  He backed up slightly and to the side, unwittingly leading it back towards Buffy's motionless body but placing himself between it and her brilliantly glowing light.  

He recalled briefly how the creature had disappeared in the graveyard once he'd covered Buffy's body with his own.  Casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the petite Slayer, he gauged the distance between them.  Just a few more feet and he'd be close enough to dive over her body before the bull could reach them.

He heard a muffled groan coming from the Slayer.  She was coming to.  He would have to do this quick before she woke and distracted the bull.

Remembering how the light had faded slightly in the face of his maliciousness, he decided to test a hunch.  Drawing on all the desire and longing he had for the petite blonde Slayer, he turned to the huge specter with the sole purpose of protecting his love, and immediately, he felt the cold burn intensify, lighting up his face in an eerie crimson glow as he faced the red monstrosity.

"If you want her, then you'll have to go through me, pillock!" he yelled selflessly, allowing himself to believe in the words, feeding it with longing images of the lovely Slayer so that the light slowly began to engulf him in a dimmer version of Buffy's holy nimbus.  He felt the immediate strain on him as the bull grabbed hold, and just as it reared its great head back to real him in, he dove backward the last few feet between him and the Slayer, back-flipping away from the glowing monstrosity, and threw himself over her, pinning her beneath him.

Buffy, who was fully conscious now, looked up at him in surprise, but he pressed her head roughly to the cement, crouching over her protectively.  "Get down!" he snapped gruffly, turning back to the bull just as it reasserted its hold on the fast-moving vampire.  Pulling on all of the demon within him, he turned on it in full game face, giving it the most ferocious snarl possible.

The light immediately disappeared from him, leaving only the viciously snarling vampire behind.  The bull looked on in bewilderment, reeling, snorting in rage at the loss of its quarry.  It threw its head madly, bucking at some unseen rider as it sent a ferocious, swirling wind at the two.  And then it disappeared as fast as it had appeared, bucking away into the dark night and leaving only an eerie stillness behind in its wake.

Hesitantly, Spike pushed the demon back down, his face reverting to its handsome human features.  He was shaking with exertion, breathing heavily despite himself, dried blood flecking his mouth and forehead.  He licked his dry lips, rolling off of the silent Slayer and lying back on the cool pavement in exhaustion.

"Bloody hell…" was all he managed to gasp, closing his eyes wearily.  Buffy simply looked at him silently from where she lay beside him, and together, the two of them lay motionlessly catching their breaths in the cool night air.

*           *           *

Finally, swiping a hand across the fast-drying blood on his lips, Spike rolled to a sitting position on the pavement, resting an arm on his knee as he fixed the Slayer with a somewhat rakish grin.

"Well, that was nice spot of fun, now, wasn't it, luv?"

Buffy lay still on the pavement, watching the vampire through dark, unfathomable eyes.  "Why?" she said simply, her voice hoarse from her ordeal.

The vampire's face softened lovingly, immediately hopping to a crouch and offering her a hand.  Hoisting her gently to her feet, he faced her warmly, the amusement still in his eyes despite his tenderness. 

"Why what, luv?  Why'd I come back?"  He brushed her wildly disarrayed hair out of her face with a tender hand.  "You know.  Why else?"

Her face pinched painfully, she continued to study him, heart a jumble of longing, pain, and loyalty towards her duty.  He was a mess, face and clothes dirty and spattered with blood—and he was just as beautiful as always, smiling down at her with a brash grin, blue eyes glittering.  She remembered the determination and courage in his stance as he bravely lured that strange red bull away from her, using his own body as a lure, then throwing himself over her selflessly in order to shield her from its pull.  He was beautiful, he was perfect, and she wondered how she would ever escape now, the trap he had unwittingly lured her heart into.

"That's the second time," she said suddenly, almost absentmindedly lifting a hand to his face to gently brush away the dried remains of blood.

He looked at her curiously, allowing her to clean him gently, soaking in her touch.  "Howzat, luv?"

She finished her casual cleaning, letting her fingers rest lightly on his chin as she studied him reflectively.  "The second time you've saved me, you silly vampire."

Spike grinned wickedly, grabbing her hand playfully.  "Three, luv, if you count me saving you from that awful Ben bloke," he replied, winking at her.

"I'll never understand you," she whispered softly, tilting her head quizzically as if to ponder this.  The earlier events of the night came back to her vaguely but she just wanted to pretend it had never happened.  She didn't care anymore.  The light on his face, the coolness of his touch…if only it could stay this simple forever in her mind.  _Just me and him_, she thought longingly.

The humor died away, and he was staring at her deeply, watching the night shadows move across the smooth contours of her face.  "You don't have to, luv," he replied simply.  With a hesitant pause, he released his gentle hold on her hand, pulling away from her.

"Now, what exactly was that red devil that just attacked you?" he said, clearing his throat and changing the subject, pacing thoughtfully.

Buffy watched him with a tight expression, emotions dancing across her face.  She seemed to be worrying over something, some decision, stance wavering slightly.  "I…I don't know.  Do you think it was that strange red whirlwind we saw in the cemetery?" she asked finally, licking her lips, her eyebrows furrowed deeply.

Spike cast her a similarly concerned glance, dark eyebrows knit tightly in thought.  "Probably.  Did it come at you the same way?"

She nodded slowly.  "Pretty much.  Except, I could see it this time.  Last time, it was just wind.  But it was that same mournful lowing we heard before."  She shivered, looking about the street suddenly in discomfort.  "It was—it was tugging at something inside me.  What did it want?"

Spike was looking all businesslike.  He shrugged stiffly, walking past her.  "I don't know, Slayer.  But we're going to find out."  He looked at her pointedly, gesturing that they should head out.

Hesitating for a moment, she turned to follow him.  Together, they left the deserted street in silence, the nighttime sounds returning around them, as if the silence had never been disturbed.

And the vast thing released its breath.  For the moment.

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	9. Chapter 8

Beyond the Darkness

Chapter Eight

By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson

Rating:  PG-13 or TV 14

Pairings:  B/S

Disclaimer:  All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…).  The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie _The Last Unicorn_ based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story. 

Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"

Author's Notes: Insert my chapter of silliness.  The boys get with the childish taunting and so-forth; very OOC, but I really had it in for this scene, so it stays regardless of how well it fits the actual characters.  :p  Giles make a very…un-Giles-like reaction, but I left it alone as well.  The end of this chapter is basically all in the name of humor and fun.  (So deal with it!  J/k)

However, there is a very crucial scene in the middle of this chapter between Buffy and Giles that I'm really happy with.  I think it caught both of their characters, their weaknesses, and their concerns fairly well.

Keep on reading and reviewing!  I love to see comments on the recent chapters, especially over the things that I just expressed my own concerns over.  I love hearing what you all think, as well!  So thanks to those of you who responded to chapters six & seven!  Your comments were greatly appreciated!  ^_^

*           *           *           *           *

_Chapter Eight_

Buffy was pacing madly in the gloomy confines of the little magic shop, face strained with the events of the last week and pinched in deep concentration.  A hush had fallen over the others, the motley little evil-fighting crew watching her in a mixture of expressions as they waited patiently for her to spill what was on her mind.  Willow followed her best friend's movements with worry-filled, yet patient green eyes—as always the symbol of comfort and support; and seated beside her, Tara's expression mirrored hers, to a much milder extent.  Giles was standing with rigid, English propriety at the shop's long counter, trying all the while to appear casual as he sipped primly at a cup of lukewarm tea; Anya leaning behind him on the counter's surface with innocent, yet patient eagerness.  Sprawled in his usual gangly fashion at the large round table, Xander cast tight-lipped glances in Buffy's direction, then back at the blonde vampire sprawled languidly in the corner, clearly upset.  Clearly ignoring him, Spike sat blissfully apart from the tight-lipped humans, once and awhile casting the other occupants of the room a coolly dispassionate gaze but otherwise, he gave no inclination of concern in the matter.

Having felt his gaze momentarily affix on her, Buffy turned imperceptibly to meet his eyes.  Only she seemed to know that Spike was far from disinterested.  He gave her the faintest hint of a nod, almost impatient in its manner, and she knew that he was indicating that she begin before the others went insane with suspense.

She turned abruptly on her heel, addressing the assorted crew in attendance with a curt manner.  And quite an assortment they made: a Watcher, an 1120 year old vengeance demon-turned-girl, two natural witches, a de-fanged vampire, and herself, a superhuman—the Slayer.  Not to forget Xander.  Just the fact that he was Xander was weirdness enough for the lot of them.

Together, they seemed an oddly mish-mashed group of virtue fighters.  But to Buffy, they were family.

"We've got a _big_ problem," she said finally with a tight expression.  "A _really_ big problem."

Xander was the first to speak up, his eyes still chillingly set on the bleach-blonde vampire.  "Yeah, we kind of figured that," he replied dryly, his sarcasm slightly biting due to his obvious dislike of Spike.  The vampire ignored him, as if to further insult him, and with feigned boredom slipped a packet of Shock Tarts from the pocket of his leather jacket and began to slowly unwind the wrapper.

From the counter, Giles cleared his throat gently.  "I believe that, ah, details would be helpful, Buffy," he prompted delicately, putting his tea down on the counter and coming further into the room.  The others nodded agreeably, prevalently the women; as Spike was currently engrossed in his candy-popping—not being able to smoke in the shop—and Xander was far too engrossed in giving him the Evil Eye to make any gesture of acknowledgement.

Buffy pursed her lips at that, picking up her pacing where she had left off.  "Well, that's just it.  We don't exactly have any details."

"What was it?" asked Willow quickly.  "D-do you think it was that thing that attacked you in the cemetery?"

Anya nodded intently.  "Yeah, that wind demon.  It was the wind demon, right?"

Buffy looked uncertain.  "I think…I mean…I'm not really sure.  But it seemed to attack the same way.  With wind.  It was like this…giant, red bull and it was glowing crazily.  Almost like heat waves or flames."

Giles knit his eyebrows the way he always did when furiously thinking.  "It sounds quite similar to th-the brief gale that assaulted the house last night while Dawn and I were waiting for you to, ah, return.  There was a, ah, quite brilliant flash of this crimson light you speak of and then it just as suddenly vanished."

Buffy's jaw was tight.  "So you think it was at the house last night?"  The implications of such a thought sent a cold shiver through the pit of her stomach.

Giles seemed hesitant to answer.  "Ah…Perhaps," he replied tentatively, adjusting his spectacles.  "But it is quite likely that it was simply passing by.  It was extremely brief to have been an actual intended assault."

Anya perked up suddenly.  "Hey, wait.  Did either of you get any sort of…warnings—an indication before it happened?  Like a creepy feeling or something?"

Across the room, Xander seemed to catch her drift.  He caught his girlfriend's eye, eyes widening in an expression of realization.  "Like…a certain 'wiggy' feeling?"

Sharing a curious glance, Buffy and Giles both nodded slightly.  "Yeah, I did.  It was like everything had just stopped," replied Buffy, eyeing her friends questioningly.  "And it was silent.  Like, _too silent."_

Willow and Tara nodded at each other in understanding.  "Like Xander and Anya felt outside the Bronze," pointed out Willow, eyes wide.

"Creepy.  And I definitely stress the word in this case," commented Xander dryly.  His gaze once again snapped to the silent vampire, glaring at him distrustfully once again.  He seemed to be eyeing the Shock Tarts hungrily.

So far silent, Tara glanced around at the others with a perplexed frown.  "B-but that doesn't leave us much to-to work with.  Crazy winds, a mysterious ghost bull and creepy feelings?"

"Really creepy," corrected Xander, still zealously eyeing Spike's candy.  The vampire threw him a smug grin, popping another Shock Tart in his mouth.  Xander narrowed his eyes challengingly.

"But what does it all mean?" continued Tara, undaunted by the interruption.  "This bull thing must have some sort of…intent.  A target or something?"

"It does," piped up Spike looking up with a sudden, serious expression.  The others in the room cast him a mixture of glances.  "It wants Buffy."

An uncomfortable tremor went through the others, all turning to glance at one another tightly.

"Ah, yes…Buffy," spoke up Giles uneasily, "That would explain its attack somewhat.  But we can't be sure that merely Buffy alone is the target.  We must think on a broader scale until we are positive on what this thing wants."

Spike shrugged slightly, turning back to his candy with feigned apathy.  "Think what you like.  But I'll bet my knickers it wanted the Slayer.  Or at least, some part of the Slayer."

There was another murmur of uneasiness in the others, who turned once again to regard him questioningly.

"What do you mean, 'a part'?" prompted Willow, eyes furrowing in concern.

This entire time Buffy had been pacing restlessly, listening with half an ear to the others' scattered speculations.  Now she froze, looking first at the others and then Spike with increasing discomfort.

Spike caught her gaze, face still blank.  But she could read the uneasiness in his eyes.

"I mean, it was definitely trying to take something from the Slayer.  Something particular," he continued, gaze falling back to the others, his face finally beginning to show some of his worry.  He straightened up slightly in his chair, eyebrows knit in thought.  "White light…" he murmured thoughtfully.  His gaze lit sharply on Willow and Tara.  "Red, you and the witch know anything about…lights—ah, a glow you mortals give off?"

Willow looked puzzled, but Tara nodded shortly, sharing a glance with the redheaded witch.  "Like an aura?  S-see, auras are…the three-dimensional energy fields that surround our bodies.  If you know how to look for them, they would appear to be a colored light surrounding or, ah, issuing from the body."

The redhead seemed to light up in understanding.  "Right!  And different colors reflect different moods and personalities, whether they're conscious or subconsciously projected, I think."

Buffy was listening intently.  She raised an eyebrow.  "Such as?"

The novice witch looked sheepish.  "Um, I don't really know that much about it.  Not memorized, at least."

"Willow a-and I can check our books for information on auras and spiritual projection," offered Tara helpfully.  The two witches looked excited, eager to finally have something to contribute to the small meeting.

Giles' gaze fell back to the blonde vampire, for once free of enmity.  "What exactly does this…white light have to do with what this specter wanted with Buffy?"

"I don't know.  But it was tryin' real hard to tear whatever 'essence' that light was from her body," remarked Spike darkly, his tone heavy.  "It hardly gave me a second thought."

_Until I started to emit that strange light, _thought the vampire tightly, but he didn't voice his thoughts.  For some reason, the fact that he had been able to emit the same holy-seeming light as Buffy slightly unnerved him.  Like it was wrong.  Or perhaps even against his nature.  And he had too much pride in his 'big bad' image to let the others know something like that.

Xander looked similarly discomfited.  "So whatever this is, it's pretty devoted."

"This thing knows exactly what it wants," concluded Spike with an unreadable expression.  His gaze flicked to Buffy, darkening further. 

Everyone was silent for a moment, digesting the matter so far.  Xander shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sitting up to address the others hopefully.

"We can kill this thing, right?" he said, looking extremely doubtful.  His gaze flicked from one person to another.  "I mean, it's not invincible?  There's some kinda' catch?"

Buffy's expression darkened considerably, flicking to each of her friends and finally resting on Spike.  "I say nothing's invincible.  We've just got to figure out its weakness."  The two beings, vampire and Slayer, shared a brief, unreadable glance, then turned to the others with questioning, yet determined expressions.

Willow and Tara shared a silent glance of their own.  "If it's a ghost like you think, a binding spell could contain it," said Willow finally, looking at the others doubtfully.  "But a binding spell requires a lot of energy.  We'd have to be…completely sure it would work."

"And by the way it sounds," added Tara warningly, "if it is a ghost, it's not your usual spook.  This thing has real powers and a purpose.  It's not just some drifting soul."

Buffy pursed her lips fiercely.  "Meaning a binding spell might not contain it."  The two witches nodded, looking regretful.

Anya knit her eyebrows thoughtfully, searching the others.  "Perhaps it was summoned?  Like the Quellor demon?"

Xander nodded pensively.  "That would explain its stellar target practice."

Buffy looked up suddenly from her speculative brooding, scanning the others around her.  They all seemed to be thinking the same thing.  "Glory?  Could she have dispatched this—this…thing?"

Everyone but Spike.  "No, no, luv," he murmured thoughtfully, slowly getting up from his seat.  "This isn't her style.  It just doesn't fit."

Giles seemed to be similarly speculative.  Blinking at the vampire's obvious intensity on the matter, he turned to the others with a gentle shake of his head.  "I hate to admit it, but Spike does have a point.  If Glory were to summon such a specter, its target would have more likely been the Key, and not Buffy."

Catching his insult, the vampire looked up sharply, frowning sourly.  "'Course I've got a bloody point!" he grumbled irritably, angrily popping several Shock Tarts in his mouth.  None of the others seemed to pay him any heed.

Xander was once again slouched quite moodily in his seat.  "Well, summoned or not, all this means is that now we've got more research to do."  He looked none-too happy about this fact.

Across the room, the old Watcher gave him a watery smile.  "Yes, that would be about it, Xander."

The young man grumbled sourly at this affirmation.  "Damn.  How come I'm always right when it comes to the painfully boring realizations?"

"It fits with your personality, mate?" replied Spike suddenly from behind him.  The others all covered amused grins and snickers with their hands as Xander turned to glare daggers at the vampire.  But Spike gave the young man a perfectly innocent expression, if such an expression was possible for a vampire.

Xander turned to the others imploringly, looking almost exasperated.  Buffy could hardly contain her amusement.

"Okay, yeah, that's not funny.  Will someone explain to me again why I can't stake Dead Boy Jr., here?"

Buffy gave him a stern expression, but it was ineffective due to her amusement.  "Because there's a lack of male laborers in the Gang," she replied mock sternly, plopping an enormous leather-bound book in front of him on the table.

"And you're getting voted off," piped up Spike dryly from somewhere in the stacks.  Buffy threw a dirty look in his direction, but of course, the vampire didn't see it.

The others all moved to find a place to work in the small shop, shuffling through books and scanning the internet for information.  Xander slouched down further in his seat, flipping open the large tome with a sour expression, muttering darkly to himself.

"As if doing research weren't bad enough in the first place!  Stupid bleached, undead guy…hope he gets an enormous paper-cut!…And why does _he get Shock Tarts?…"_

*           *           *

Running a hand through her hair wearily, Buffy heaved a frustrated sigh, setting down the old book of spook-ology she had been riffling through for the last half hour and stared at the clock blankly, as if staring would make the hours go by faster.  She couldn't even remember how many hours had gone by so far, but it had to have been several.  In fact, it had been long enough that they had gone through nearly every book in the Watcher's possession regarding spirits and demons and found a rather affirmative nothing.

At least, that's how she saw it.  The Slayer pursed her lips thoughtfully.  It must have been about an hour ago that Willow and Tara had offered to check the campus library for information.  And in another hour she would have to go pick up Dawn, who was staying with a friend of her mother's, a co-worker from the gallery.  Then she'd have to see to the last minute funeral arrangements, try once again to get a hold of her father who was still awol somewhere in Spain, and prepare for Angel's arrival from L.A. tomorrow.  For once she was glad she had let the others convince her not to patrol tonight, for she was busy enough as it was.

Someone cleared their throat politely from her shoulder and she looked up with a start.  "Buffy, I've been meaning to talk to you," began Giles hesitantly, taking a seat at the table with her.  He saw her features tense slightly, and he softened his expression a bit.  "Now just hear me out, this won't be a lecture."

He sighed gently, and she could see the concern again in his eyes as he carefully removed his spectacles, a sure sign that he was being serious.  But she was watching him attentively, her respect obvious in her expression.  For the five or six years she had known him, Rupert Giles had consistently stood behind her.  He had taught her the ways of the Slayer—ways which she had often reformed to her own individual style of slaying—and helped her form the strength she would need to fight the evils that went part and parcel with those duties.  He had been her teacher, her guide, her mentor, and also her friend.  In her teenage years, she had sometimes resented his protectiveness, his somewhat anal personality, and often, his tendency to act as a surrogate father figure.  But now, as a young woman, she saw all he had done for her—if she had not before—and realized that he had really been her only father figure since she had become the Slayer, and she had undying respect for that.

Of course, it didn't always show.  She supposed she would have to express this gratitude to him someday, though she was sure he knew already, if anything but to let him know to what extent she respected him.  But now was not the time for that.

"I…All of us have been worried about you, Buffy," began the weary Watcher carefully, studying the grain of the table as he picked over his words with care.  "We know that this…ah, tragedy has been a great blow to both you and Dawn.  Obviously Dawn has taken this extremely hard, though she seems to be improving as of late.  But you, Buffy," he stated.  He looked up at her now with sternly concerned hazel eyes.  "How are _you coping?"_

There was pain in the young blonde's eyes, but she laughed lightly under her breath, almost scornfully as she turned her head away in a harried gesture.  "No one believes I'm fine.  Why doesn't anyone believe I'm fine?"  She looked at him insistently, trying to prove her point, but the middle-aged Englishman knew her far too well for that.

"Are you, Buffy?" he pushed, concerned.  "You hardly talk with the others, except on matters of Slayer business—"

"I have duties, Giles."

The Englishman's brow creased further.  "My point is that you've immersed yourself in them now, Buffy.  You have funeral preparations and invitations to write all day, and then you patrol nearly all night until you're too exhausted to think in the morning.  You say that everyone is counting on you, Buffy, but—"

She placed her hands on the table heavily.  "Everyone _is_ counting on me, Giles.  These things happen, but I have to get over them so that I can take care of the people who are still alive to count on me.  Being the Slayer doesn't give you the leisure to simply drop everything and drown in your misery!"  She was glaring at him somewhat, her face hard, but he recognized the signs of the tears she was fighting.

Giles looked distressed, his eyes pleading with her.  "Buffy!  Please!  I'm not suggesting that you do such a thing."  He narrowed his eyes slightly, and all of a sudden he appeared the harried old father, the lines of age around his eyes and mouth more harsh and defined.  "But perhaps you would do those people you care about more good if you took things more slowly.  Buffy, how much have you slept in the last week?  You're exhausted; you keep trying to drown yourself in your work so as to forget your pain, but it's only hurting you more!"

She watched him, biting her lip, eyes furrowed with a mixture of emotions.  And she seemed old beyond her age, the worry lines beginning to make their mark around her eyes and forehead, the shadows under her eyes lengthening.  Her face had become gaunt in the last week, worn with fatigue and all of it seemed to cave in on her at this moment; the stress, the pain, the worry.  Her obsession had worn her down.  She did not know how she could have let herself get this far, how she could have ignored the obvious truth of what she was doing and not listened to the concerned advice of those around her.  Willow, and Xander, Giles and all the others.  Even Spike.  She had brushed all of their concerns off, had forced smiles for their benefit, but smiles and cheerful assurances had not been what they had been looking for.

Shakily, she took a breath, pulling her hair back from her face with cold fingers.  "Giles…There's just so much depending on me," she murmured weakly, still not willing to admit all he'd said was true.  She couldn't cry, not now.  She would never be able to stop.  "How can I just…quit?"

Placing his glasses back on his nose, Giles smiled at her comfortingly.  "You're not quitting, Buffy.  You are still the Slayer.  But you are a special Slayer, Buffy.  You don't have to do this alone, like all the previous Slayers before you.  You have all of us to help out."

Buffy looked up again, meeting his eyes.  She gave him a tinny smile of thanks.  "'A Slayer with friends and family?  I don't remember that being in the brochure,'" she remarked sardonically.

The old Watcher sniffed imperiously, getting up from his seat.  "Now you're stealing lines from Spike.  Yes, I believe it's definitely time the others and I stepped in to help you."  She grinned at him impishly from her seat, glad he was back to his dry sense of humor once again.  Pushing his seat back in, he went back to the service counter where he had previously been scanning through a pile of books.  

"As for you taking it easy in your Slaying duties, the others will take over patrolling for the next couple weeks, or at least until the funeral is out of the way.  It shouldn't be too much of a problem, I'm sure—we did quite well, after all, when you were in the hospital with Joyce a few months back."

Despite her elation, Buffy looked uncertain.  "You mean like you getting knocked around headstones and Willow getting all 'jelly' in the legs?" she said with an arch of her eyebrow, her lips quirked in amusement.  She continued mercilessly, "Oh, and that incident with the chips before that, and Riley blowing up one of the cemetery's oldest mausoleums with a hand grenade?" 

The Watcher looked slightly miffed for a moment, eyes furrowed as he searched for a proper explanation.  "Er…Perhaps our methods aren't as…ah, polished as yours are, Buffy, but we are still quite capable—ah, _somewhat_ capable of patrolling on our own," he stated with contained dignity, flipping through the pages of a book nervously.  He looked up shortly, pursing his lips sourly.  "For a short period of time, that is."

Buffy turned back to her books, trying to hide a smile.  "Yes, _quite_…"

Scanning the pages of a small book with casual interest, Spike wandered over from where he had been perusing the bookshelves.  "Listen to this, Slayer.  This bloke here's got an index of paranormal and mythical creatures in here, and in the section under 'Unicorns' he mentions something about a 'Red Bull' herding them all to the sea."

Buffy turned to regard him skeptically.  "Well, it's something.  What else does it say?"

Pursing his lips, Spike scanned the pages further, taking a seat across from her at the table.  "Says some King Haggard bugger summoned this Red Bull creature to gather all the unicorns and herd 'em into the sea where they couldn't be found.  He had some sort of obsession with their beauty or something like that," he remarked, making a dismissive gesture.  He sighed raggedly, tossing the book across to her.

"Not much help there, pet."

Standing along the other side of the bookcase, Xander looked up from his own book with a derisive snort.  "No, it's not."

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Spike spun around slowly, piercing the brown-haired young man with a challenging expression.  "And I suppose you've done any better, _mate?" he asked with calm defiance, his tone stiff._

The young man wandered over with a cocky swagger, dropping the book in his hand on the table in front of the vampire's nose.  "Beat that, Chips Ahoy.  A whole book on summoned beasts."  He grinned smugly at the other.

Buffy slid the book across the table to herself, flipping through the table of contents while Spike favored the self-confident man with one eyebrow raised, mock impressed.  There was silence for a moment, the two staring off tensely, and then Buffy cleared her throat loudly, looking up with a dry expression at Xander who was now staring patiently down at her.

"It's not in here," she stated simply, pushing the book back towards him.

The young man looked shocked, picking the book back up and scanning the table of contents angrily.  "What?!  But it has to be in here!"

Spike turned smugly around in his seat.  "Well it seems I won that bet.  Didn't even have to try," he murmured lightly, eyes twinkling mischievously.  Buffy lowered her head, pretending to read the book he had handed her earlier as she tried to hide her amusement.

Xander was still furiously paging through the useless book of summoned beasts.  "No way!  What's the point of having a book on summoned beasts that doesn't even include glowing red bull spirits?!  They need to update these things."

"Perhaps we should subscribe to the yearly edition," suggested Spike tartly, reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket for his nearly empty roll of Shock Tarts.  His eyes suddenly widened in surprise, coming up empty, then narrowed suspiciously.  "Alright, who's the wanker who stole my Shocks?" he growled angrily, turning around in his seat to pierce Xander with an accusing glare.

Xander attempted total innocence.  "Who? Me? You wound me, _Spike-man_."

Spike growled angrily, lunging out of his seat at the cocky Scooby member.  "Alright, whelp!  You're _really_ startin' to hack me off now!"

"Spike," warned Buffy loudly, rolling her eyes at the two men's immaturity.  Neither seemed to take notice though, as Xander easily stepped out of the way, facing the de-fanged vampire with a taunting, ingratiating smile.

"Aw, really, Fangs?  You know, it's funny—I didn't even think that vampires could have a sweet tooth."

Spike growled angrily, and uselessly, unable to attack the other man due to the chip in his head.  "Oh, we've got a sweet tooth alright.  Awfully partial to the blood of cock-off buggers such as yourself…"  He feigned a lunge at the other, swiping for the candy that was now visible in Xander's clenched fist.

Xander spun away with clumsy grace, racing around the bookshelf and laughing tauntingly.  "Ha, ha, that's funny, Fang Boy!  Funny how you can't drain me, let alone attack me!"

"Shut up, bastard!"

Round the bookshelves, then across the room, over the table and behind and over the counter.  Buffy ran a weary hand through her hair, sighing heavily in frustration.  _It could be worse, she thought dryly.  They could be trying to kill each other.  Which she was pretty sure they would have been doing if not for the chip in Spike's head.  _

Her face darkened—not a comforting thought.

"Hey, which is your favorite color, 'cuz I really like the blue?" quipped Xander tauntingly, popping the candy in his mouth and munching loudly in over-exaggerated enjoyment.  "Mmm, yeah.  Definitely the blue.  Of course, the purples are pretty good, too…"

Spike ground his teeth angrily.  "Aaaaaarrrrggghhh…_Give them back, pillock!!_"

"Gotta' catch me, oh fang-less one!" sang Xander tauntingly, jumping up on the counter and waving the slowly diminishing roll of candy in the air.

Fists shaking at his sides, Spike glared up at him furiously, blue eyes flecked gold with rage.  Finally he turned sharply to Giles, his features taking on a slightly begging tone.  "Watcher, make him give them back!" he demanded belligerently, voice still gruff but almost pouting.

Giles gave the vampire a look of bewildered amazement, then promptly banged his head down on the counter in frustration at the two's childish behavior.

"Hey, I found a stack of magick books Willow and Tara must have left in the back," commented Anya, coming in from the back room with several books in hand.  She ignored Xander and Spike's antics—or rather, didn't seem to notice them—and went straight for the Watcher head-down on the counter.  "Maybe there's something about auras in one of them."

Giles nodded, raising his head and clearing his throat to recover his composure.  "Ah, yes.  Yes, that's quite helpful, Anya."  He took several of the books from her, glancing at the titles ruminatively.  He blinked, flipping the two books he had picked over, giving them a perplexed expression.

"Hmm, what are these books?"

Anya looked up, blinking.  "Oh, those.  They were lying in back, too.  You don't recognize them?"

Giles shook his head, frowning thoughtfully.  "No, I don't believe I do."  He took a closer look at one of them, recognition sparking in his face.  "Ah, no, I _do remember this one."_

In the background, Spike and Xander had resumed their frenzied chase around the room, arguing violently.  Buffy banged her head several times on the table in aggravation then stood up, yelling at them sternly to cut it out, but both men ignored the veiled threat.

Ignoring the commotion in the background, Anya peered at the book Giles was holding up.  "Isn't that the one we saw the other day?  The, uh, 'Certs' book?"

"_Metulj__ Srce, Anya.  And yes, it is."  The old Watcher turned the book over in his hands, brow furrowed slightly in a look of perplexed scrutiny.  "I'd forgotten about this book.  It seems no one has come to claim it, yet."_

"I'm gonna' tear your head off with my—STOP EATIN' 'EM, BLOODY WHELP!!"

"How ya gonna' make me, Chips Ahoy Roy?  You can't even _pinch me, let alone rip my head—"_

"Chip or no chip, I'm gonna' deck your face in if you don't stop eatin' my bleedin'—"

"Both of you knock it off, _now_!"

Anya looked at Giles inquisitively.  "Have you figured out what the title means?"

The Watcher shook his head lightly, taking the other books from her and looking over them, placing _Metulj__ Srce on the counter in front of them.  "No, I've been too busy with this whole 'Red Bull' disturbance…" he said, and he froze suddenly, staring straight ahead as something fell into place._

The demon-girl didn't seem to notice his reaction, opening one of the magick books and looking through it lazily.  "Yeah.  Hey, there's something about auras in here…"

Giles grabbed her arm suddenly, causing her to look up at him in surprise.  "That book—Anya, do you remember what it said?"

The blonde looked thoughtful, forehead creasing neatly.  "Uh, yeah, something about butterflies and unicorns and…"  She looked up at him suddenly in realization.

"A Red Bull," finished Giles for her, hastily flipping through the small book, a look of excitement beginning to come over him.  "Now, what page was it on?"

"_Spike!_  Get your sorry, worthless butt over here before I dust it!!"

The vampire ignored the petite Slayer's warning.  Dashing around the bookshelf Xander was currently shielded behind, he grabbed the brown-haired young man's arm, yanking him forward with an angry growl.  Immediately the growl turned into a yelp of pain, and he released his quarry as if burned, cupping the sides of his head in agony.

"Grrr…Bloody hell!!  What the fuck ever happened to 'intent to harm', damnit all?!"

Xander was rubbing his arm sorely, glaring angrily.  "Sure as hell felt like 'intent to harm' to me.  Jeez, I think my arm's turning colors…"  He hissed in pain, studying his arm worriedly.

Spike snorted derisively, still rubbing a sore temple.  "Well that's bloody _lovely, 'cuz I sure as hell ain't havin' a picnic, here!"_

Buffy sighed, long and loud as the two began to bicker once again, rubbing her neck wearily.  "Maturity police, I would like to place an emergency call…" she muttered wryly to herself.

"Ah, here it is!" remarked Giles triumphantly, finally finding what he was looking for.  "Yes, yes it does make reference to a Red Bull.  It says that it drove the 'others' away—I assume it is referring to the, ah, unicorns here—but it says that the Red Bull drove them away long ago, covering their tracks.  It remarks then on how it has the horns of a wild ox and would use them to drive the unicorns to the ends of the earth.  But there's nothing else after that, only smeared letters.  And the next page goes on to tell another tale."

Anya pursed her lips thoughtfully.  "But it's something, right?  I mean, we know there is something about this Red Bull out there somewhere.  Could this maybe be an excerpt from something else?"

Giles shook his head hopelessly.  "I suppose it could, but we really can't know.  If we knew what the title meant, perhaps that would tell us something.  But I can't even conjecture what the language might be.  Perhaps Slovak, or an old gypsy tongue—it will take research."

The half-demon nodded absently, thoughtfully studying the short passage.  "This story…It almost fits with what Buffy and Spike have told us about their encounters.  The butterfly says that the Red Bull was herding the unicorns, right?  So, wouldn't that be a lot like how this bull thing is hunting Buffy?"

"Yes, there is a similarity there," remarked Giles hesitantly.  "But Buffy and Spike clearly recall that this creature was trying to take something from within Buffy, not herd her to her death as the tale goes."

"Could it be herding something _from_ her?" pointed out Anya.  She looked thoughtfully innocent all of a sudden, almost like a child concocting a fairy tale.  "Maybe she's got a unicorn hidden in her."

Giles sighed, running a weary hand through his hair.  "Highly unlikely, Anya.  But perhaps you are right in assuming that it is herding something from her.  This requires more in depth research than I had hoped."

Anya looked crestfallen.  "Oh."  She looked up at him hopefully.  "Do you think—"

"Don't even think about it."

"Damn."

Across the room, the two men's argument had died down somewhat to vicious verbal banter.  Laughing tauntingly, Xander tossed the last few Shock Tarts from hand to hand, putting the table between him and the angrily cursing vampire.

"The crowds go wild as Barkley takes the court!  Oh, oh, he's traveling, folks!  The refs _gotta__' be giving him a penalty for that one!"_

"I'll penalize ya, tosser!" growled Spike, leaping over the table at him.  The two of them tumbled to the floor—Spike crying out in angry pain as the chip in his head reacted smartly—the candy flying out of Xander's hand and skittering across the service counter.

Anya looked up brightly.  "Hey, Shock Tarts!" she exclaimed in surprise, popping the last two pieces of candy in her mouth with a satisfied grin and turning back to her reading.  "Thanks, guys."

The two men simply stared at her in open-mouthed horror.

"Those were my last pieces!" objected Spike finally, crestfallen, having forgotten the dull ringing in his skull for the time being.  Xander looked equally let down, moodily propping his head up on a fist.

"Man, they were blue ones, too."

Spike turned to him sharply, glaring accusingly.  "It's your fault."

"No it's not!" retorted Xander angrily.

"Wanker," declared Spike hotly, climbing to his feet and stalking away.

"Uh…uh…Dead guy!" retorted Xander, stomping away in the other direction.

Buffy whimpered in exasperation, eyes darting pleadingly to the clock once again.

*           *           *           *           *

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
